H  IRomance  of  fisherman's  flslanfc 


BY 

EDITH  A.  SAWYER 


With  a  Foreword  by  HARRIET  PRESCOTT  SPOFFORF 


'Oh,  is  it  not  to  \viden  man 

Stretches  the  sea?" 

—  Sidney  Lamer 


BENJ.  H.  SANBORN    &    CO. 

BOSTON,  U.  S.  A 
1899 


COPYRIGHT,  1899, 
BY  EDITH  A.  SAWYER. 


PRESS  OF  SAMUBL  USHEK. 
BOSTON,  MASS. 


Uo  tbe  Members 


OF  THE  SAMOSET  ISLAND  ASSOCIATION,  AND  TO  ALL  WHO  HAVE 

SHARED  IN  THE  HOSPITALITY  OF  THE  ANNUAL  MEETINGS 

ON  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND,  THIS  STORY,  FOUNDED 

LARGELY  UPON  HISTORICAL  FACT, 

IS  DEDICATED. 


17-17014 


A  FOREWORD. 

The  coves  and  indents,  the  bays  and  river-mouths,  along 
the  coast  of  Maine,  are  a  part  of  my  earliest  memories.  All 
the  lovely  region  seems  to  me  still  a  sort  of  fairyland  which, 
when  a  little  child,  was  all  my  own.  Through  its  bewilder 
ing  waters  I  made  repeated  voyages,  sitting  on  the  deck  of 
the  packet-ship  by  day,  tented  by  blue  heaven,  ringed  about 
with  blue  sea;  here,  on  dark  nights,  I  was  carried  in  sailors' 
arms  down  long  wharves,  rowed  out  upon  the  dim  swell  to 
the  one  light  visible  in  an  immense  blackness,  and  handed 
up  the  gangway,  trembling  with  awe  at  the  unfamiliar 
greatness  of  the  world ;  here,  on  bright  lonesome  mornings, 
I  was  rocked  in  the  schooner  Girls  from  reach  to  reach  of 
the  beautiful  St.  Croix;  or  on  another  day,  when  the  swift 
Huntress  could  not  make  the  Eastport  wharf  in  the  low 
tide  and  sudden  tempest,  we  went  ashore  in  boats  to  cross 
fields  of  wet  seaweed,  with  the  needles  of  the  rain  in  our 
faces.  I  can  still  feel  the  cool  salt  breath  there  steal  in  from 
outer  deeps,  and  see  it  draw  a  film  across  the  stars.  I  can 
still  hear  the  cry  of  the  great  winds,  with  storm  upon  their 
wings,  sweeping  in  from  reefs  and  ledges,  singing  their  high 
death-song  of  wreck  and  drowning  men.  The  rafts,  the 
sun-soaked  hulls  and  tarry  ropes  of  the  coasters,  the  light 
houses,  the  islands  —  whose  primeval  pines  stood  like  dark 
sentinels  and  whose  sea-edges  were  fringed  with  tender 
green  of  dipping  birch  and  willow  —  the  elf-like  sails  flitting 

5 


here  and  there,  the  great  ships  taking  sun  and  shadow  and 
stealing  away  like  grey  ghosts,  the  gloom  of  cliff  and  steep, 
the  rolling  fogs  pierced  by  a  red  flame  of  sunset,  the  vast 
tossing  stretches  of  live  sunshine  and  azure  and  foam,  of 
rose  and  silver,  of  violet  mists  whose  dim  distances  veiled  a 
still  farther  and  yet  undiscovered  country  —  all  these  remain 
in  my  recollection,  clothed  with  an  atmosphere,  half  dream, 
half  reality,  of  vivid  beauty,  that  makes  the  wild  sea-region 
all  to  me  that  a  land-locked  Arcady  or  Tempe  has  been  to 
the  fancy  of  poets  and  singers  from  the  early  days  to  this. 

Kind  reader,  may  you  find  in  the  sweet,  strong,  fine  story 
of  Mary  Cameron,  set  in  the  scenery  of  the  coast  of  Maine, 
with  its  added  wealth  of  humanity,  of  love  and  sorrow  and 
joy,  all  of  this  gentle  enchantment,  too ! 

HARRIET  PRESCOTT  SPOFFORD. 


Newburyport)  Mass.,  June  7,  1899. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAP.  PAGE. 

I.    FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND i 

II.    THE  FIRST  ANNUAL  MEETING 14 

III.  INFLUENCES 23 

IV.  WINTER  ISOLATION 35 

V.  SECOND  VISIT  OF  ISLAND  OWNERS    ...  42 

VI.    SUMMER  DAYS 60 

VII.    WIND  AND  WRECK 73 

VIII.    "OUT  OF  THE  DEEP" 89 

IX.    UP  MARCH  HILL 92 

X.    THE  HEALING  OF  THE  SEA 103 

XI.    NEW  SCENES  FOR  OLD 110 

XII.    KNOWLEDGE  AND  FEELING 127 

XIII.  AWAKENING 143 

XIV.  "  THE  BEST  Is  YET  TO  BE  " 161 

XV.    MANIFOLD  CHANGES 174 

XVI.    HELP  FROM  MAN  TO  MAN 186 

XVII.  "LovE  TOOK  UP  THE  HARP  OF  LIFE"     .  191 


MARY  CAMERON: 

A   ROMANCE    OF    FISHERMAN'S   ISLAND. 


CHAPTER   I. 

"  O,  it's  a  snug  little  island! 
A  right  little,  tight  little  island!" 

—  Thomas  Dibden. 

T  I  iHERE  was  a  hush  and  stillness  about  the  late 
-*-  July  afternoon.  The  flood-tide  came  up  against 
the  rocks  with  a  faint  murmur.  A  motionless  jellyfish 
floated  in  the  clear  water  close  to  the  shore.  The  sun, 
disappearing  behind  the  trees  on  Southport  Island, 
touched  their  tops  with  gold.  Far  away,  homeward- 
bound  fishing  boats  moved  slowly  along.  Faint  vio 
let-gray  clouds  hung  over  the  southern  horizon  ;  above, 
the  salmon-colored  sky  shaded  to  pale  blue,  growing 
into  deep  blue  overhead.  Across  the  still  waters  the 
air  came  with  a  soft  sea  fragrance. 

The  gold  on  the  tree  tops  changed  to  bronze,  then 
russet.  The  sails  in  the  distance  took  on  a  yellow 
tinge.  The  sea  color  deepened  into  an  exquisite  blue, 


2  MARY  CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

with  gleams  of  pale  yellow.     Just  as  the  sun  set,  the 
reel  rays  shone  out  from  Ram  Island  lighthouse. 

A  tall,  sinewy  man  stood  on  the  Fisherman's  Island 
wharf  ready  to  catch  the  line  from  the  in-coming  cat- 
boat.  His  spare  figure  was  sharply  outlined  against 
the  somber  gray  rock  behind.  He  wore  high  rubber 
boots  drawn  up  over  snuff-colored  trousers,  a  yellow 
oil-skin  jacket,  and  a  black  sou'easter  ;  his  rolled-back 
collar  revealed  a  strong  neck,  and  his  pushed-up  sleeves 
brought  to  view  marvelously  tattoed  arms,  on  which 
the  muscles  stood  out  like  cords.  He  was  bronzed 
almost  to  copper  color  by  exposure  to  sun,  wind,  and 
storm.  The  gray  stubble  of  a  close-cut  beard  left 
visible  the  square  outline  of  his  jaw  and  chin ;  a 
heavy  gray  moustache  hung  over  his  mouth.  Scanty 
gray  hair  showed  behind  his  ears  and  under  his  sou' 
easter.  A  large  nose,  high  cheek  bones,  shaggy  eye 
brows,  under  which  were  clear,  keen,  dark  blue  eyes  — 
all  marked  a  man  of  simple  life  and  rugged  force. 

u  Here  we  are,  father,  safe  and  sound  !  "  exclaimed 
the  bright-faced  girl  who  was  holding  the  rudder  while 
the  tall,  lithe  skipper  eased  the  boat  along  the  wharf. 
"  We  've  had  a  splendid  sail.  I  bought  my  new  dress, 
and  here  's  a  letter  for  you.  Jack,  you  bring  the 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  6 

bundles,  all  but  my  dress,  I'll  take  that,"  she  said,  as 
she  jumped  out,  the  boat  made  fast.  "  Come  on, 
father  ;  what 's  in  your  letter  ?  " 

"Oh,  that'll  keep  till  we  get  to  the  house.  Run 
along  an'  show  Aunt  Hetty  your  new  gown  ;  I  ex 
pect  she 's  as  pertikelar  to  see  it  as  you  be  to  have 
her.  I  '11  help  Jack  moor  the  boat." 

"No,  come  now,  dear  daddy,"  insisted  the  girl; 
and  he  went. 

The  tide  was  out,  leaving  the  little  cove  half  bare. 
Great  dark  masses  of  seaweed  covered  the  rocks  be 
low  high- water  mark,  and  gave  a  gruesome  effect  to 
the  surrounding  flats.  The  cliff,  along  which  the  path 
ran  from  the  wharf  to  the  house,  rose  abrupt  and 
steep,  of  heavy  rock  with  deep,  lengthwise  fissures  at 
the  wharf  end,  then  sloped  into  a  line  of  sand  beach 
around  the  cove,  just  beyond  which,  on  high  ground, 
stood  the  little  house,  toned  with  nature's  homely  gray 
and  russet. 

There  was  something  joyous,  spring-like  in  the  girl's 
figure  as  she  walked  on  ahead,  occasionally  having  to 
wait  for  her  father  ;  she  stood  tall,  erect,  like  a  young 
pine  tree,  as  if  she  had  all  the  elements  of  support  in 
herself. 


4  MARY   CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

"  Aunt  Hetty 's  getting  supper  for  us,  sure  as  you 
live,'"  she  said;  "there's  smoke  coming  out  of  the 
chimney.  She  did  n't  need  to,  and  she  '11  be  cross  as 
two  sticks  afterwards  to  pay  for  it." 

"Hush,  Mary,  you  mustn't  talk  that  way.  Your 
aunt  means  all  right." 

"  Yes,  I  know  it,"  answered  the  girl,  with  quick 
compunction.  "And  I've  brought  her  some  calico 
for  aprons  ;  that  will  please  her  better  than  anything." 
She  vanished  into  the  house,  leaving  her  father  on  the 
little  front  porch  to  read  his  letter. 

Presently  she  came  out,  her  hat  off,  her  wind-tossed 
brown  hair  curling  all  around  her  face,  and  a  large  red 
apron  tied  over  her  blue  flannel  best  dress,  saying  as 
she  sat  down  and  leaned  against  her  father's  knee,  "  I 
declare  I  'm  tired.  It  was  hard  work  waiting  around 
Boothbay  and  buying  things.  And  Aunt  Hetty  is 
cross  ;  but  she  would  n't  let  me  stay  and  help.  Who  's 
your  letter  from  ? "  Letters  were  great  events  on 
Fisherman's  Island. 

"Judge  Weston.  He's  comin'  here  next  week  with 
two  or  three  of  the  owners,  an'  mebbe  their  wives. 
Can't  we  give  'em  a  fish-chowder  dinner?" 

"  Yes,  I  suppose   so,"  said    the   girl    thoughtfully. 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  5 

"  Aunt  Hetty  will  help,  I  guess,  and  we  can  borrow 
her  chairs  and  dishes." 

"  An'  the  judge  says  probably  he  an'  Rob  Westou  '11 
want  to  stay  a  day  or  two  longer,"  went  on  the  old 
captain;  "you  remember  that  nephew  of  his,  don't 
you  ?  Used  to  live  over  to  Boothbay  —  that  tall,  yel 
low-haired  fellow  who  always  was  makin'  picters ; 
he  's  try  in'  to  get  a  livin'  by  it  now." 

Mary  remembered.  Rob  Weston  had  been  about 
five  years  ahead  of  her  in  the  Boothbay  schools.  He 
had  gone  to  live  with  Judge  Weston  after  his  parents 
died,  and  when  he  came  back  to  visit  he  called  her 
"  Miss"  Mary. 

"  I  'd  just  as  soon  the  nephew  warn't  comin',"  said 
Captain  Cameron  with  a  sidelong  glance  at  his  daugh 
ter.  She  was  sitting  by  his  side  now,  holding  his  big 
knotted  hand  in  hers.  "  I  don't  like  these  city  chaps." 

When  will  a  man  learn  that  if  he  wants  to  keep 
anything  from  a  woman  he  must  not  even  think  of  it 
in  her  presence  ? 

They  sat  there  for  a  long  time,  planning  about  the 
visitors.  There  was  no  twilight.  The  moon,  high  in 
the  east  before  the  sun  went  down,  had  blended  day 
and  night. 


6  MARY   CAMERON:  A   ROMANCE 

"Ain't  you  ever  comin'  to  get  your  supper?" 
sounded  a  high  pitched  voice  just  behind  them.  "  The 
cream  o'  tartay  biscuits'  been  done  this  five  minutes, 
an'  I  'm  goin'  home."  Without  waiting  a  reply,  Aunt 
Hetty  turned,  and  with  stiffly  erect  figure,  stalked 
grimly  along  the  path  to  the  smaller  house  near  the 
wharf,  the  skirt  of  her  scant  wrapper  catching  in  at 
her  heels,  a  calico  apron  over  her  head. 

Since  the  first  of  May  the  two  Cameron  families 
had  lived  on  Fisherman's  Island,  which  lies  out  in 
the  open  sea  three  miles  "  as  the  crow  flies"  southeast 
from  Boothbay  Harbor,  on  the  Maine  coast  —  a  long, 
narrow  island  scantily  wooded.  The  circumstances 
of  their  coming  here  were  somewhat  out  of  the 
ordinary. 

The  island  had  been  bought  by  about  a  dozen 
gentlemen  —  lawyers  and  prominent  men  —  who  the 
previous  summer,  cruising  along  the  Maine  coast,  had 
liked  the  quaint  barren  island,  found  the  property  in 
the  market,  and,  forming  an  association,  bought  it 
forthwith,  electing  as  president  Judge  Levi  Westou, 
both  in  years  and  honor  their  senior  member.  That 
winter,  in  the  Maine  legislature,  where  some  of  the 
owners  chanced  to  be  serving  their  State's  interests, 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  7 

the  association  was  incorporated  as  the  "  Samoset 
Island  Association  of  Boothbay,"  and  a  liberal  charter 
granted.  But,  though  legally  "  Samoset  Island"  now, 
the  name  of  "  Fisherman's  "  has  always  clung  to  the 
island. 

Then  the  matter  slipped  from  the  minds  of  most  of 
the  owners. 

In  April,  however,  Judge  Weston  bethought  himself 
of  the  approaching  summer,  and  partly  to  get  a  breath 
of  good  Maine  air,  partly  carrying  out  a  half-formed 
project,  went  to  Boothbay. 

As  the  steamer  Lincoln  drew  up  to  the  wharf, 
Judge  Weston's  eyes  fell  on  David  Cameron's  wea 
ther-beaten  figure.  "Just  the  man,  yes,"  he  told 
himself 

"  I  have  come  to  see  you,  Cameron,"  he  said,  shak 
ing  hands  heartily  as  he  stepped  from  the  gang  plank. 
"How  has  the  world  been  using  you?" 

The  two  men  had  not  met  for  several  years. 

"It's  been  a  hard  pull,  Judge,  a  hard  pull,"  the 
other  answered. 

"  Come  up  to  the  Boothbay  House  with  me,"  said 
the  judge  ;  and  in  his  habitual  manner,  going  at  once 
to  the  gist  of  the  matter,  he  explained  that  he  and  his 


8  MARY   CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

friends  had  bought  Fisherman's  Island  and  wanted 
somebody  to  live  there  to  look  after  things.  "  Will 
you  go,  Cameron?"  he  asked. 

Captain  Cameron  knew  the  island  well.  Life  would 
be  lonely  and  isolated  there.  But  times  were  hard  ; 
he  had  lost  his  best  sailboat  last  season  through  the 
carelessness  of  "  rusticators  "  —as  the  native  popula 
tion  sometimes  call  the  summer  visitors  —  and  the 
winter's  catch  of  fish  had  been  small ;  besides,  he  was 
growing  too  old  for  hard  work  now.  "  If  Mary  '11  go, 
I  will,"  he  said  finally,  after  they  had  talked  the  mat 
ter  well  over.  "She's  had  a  good  bit  of  schooliu', 
'bout  all  Boothbay  gives,  an'  she  's  mostly  content  to 
be  'long  with  her  old  father.  I  '11  come  round  an' 
tell  you  in  the  mornin'." 

After  the  supper  dishes  were  washed  that  night, 
Captain  Cameron  told  Mary  of  Judge  Westou's  offer. 
Brave  girl  that  she  was,  and  womanly,  too,  beyond  her 
eighteen  years,  she  faced  the  prospect  unflinchingly, 
for  she  knew  what  a  relief  from  mone}7  care  the 
change  would  bring  to  her  father. 

"  We  '11  go,"  he  said,  the  next  morning,  hunting  up 
Judge  Weston  early.  "  Mary's  the  most  superior  girl 
in  Boothbay,"  he  declared,  with  a  burst  of  pride. 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  9 

"She's  got  more  sense  in  her  little  finger  than  a 
dozen  other  girls  put  together." 

"  She  has  good  pluck,  anyway,"  returned  Judge 
Weston,  "and  that  she  ought  to  have,  being  your 
daughter,"  he  added  affectionately,  for  the  two  men 
had  been  boys  together  in  the  old  town  and  had  never 
lost  touch  with  one  another,  widely  different  as  their 
lives  were. 

' '  There  's  no  reason  why  this  should  n't  be  a  life- 
berth  for  you,  if  you  want  it,"  said  Judge  Weston. 
The  two  men  had  walked  down  to  the  wharf  together, 
for  Judge  Weston  had  to  take  the  morning  boat. 
"  The  salary  will  come  regularly,  and  you  ought  to 
get  something  out  of  the  lobstering  and  fishing.  I 
shall  be  down  with  some  of  the  other  owners  this  sum 
mer,  and  I  have  made  a  contract  for  a  good  wharf  to 
be  built  on  the  north  end  of  the  island.  You  will 
have  near  neighbors  in  the  lighthouse  people  on  Ram 
Island."  The  Lincoln  gave  a  final  whistle.  "Well, 
good-by,  David." 

"  Good-by  !  God  bless  you,  Judge,"  said  Cameron. 
And  the  Lincoln  was  off. 

The  two  Cameron  brothers,  David  and  Donald,  had 
lived  next-door  neighbors  in  Boothbay  all  their  mar- 


10  MART  CAMERON:  A  ROMANCE 

ried  lives.  Both  were  sea  captains,  and  neither  had 
been  very  successful,  for  competition  runs  high  in  the 
coastwise  trade  these  days. 

The  odds  had  seemed  especially  against  David. 
A  few  years  before  he  had  been  obliged  to  abandon 
his  schooner,  which  went  ashore  in  a  gale,  and  he  had 
barely  escaped  with  his  life.  Shortly  after,  his  wife 
died.  Broken  by  these  misfortunes,  he  settled  down 
to  fishing  and  boat  building,  and  kept  a  small  yacht 
for  pleasure  parties. 

Captain  Donald  Cameron  still  sailed  the  Flying 
Kestrel,  and  was  away  most  of  the  time.  It  was  often 
insinuated  that  he  liked  better  going  to  sea  than  being 
in  hot  water  at  home,  for  his  wife  Mehitable  —  Aunt 
Hetty,  as  Mary  called  her  —  was  one  of  the  people 
who  consider  it  their  mission  in  life  to  keep  others  up 
to  a  high  level  of  conduct  by  constant  criticism. 

"  Why  can't  Jack  and  I  go  and  live  in  the  other 
house  on  the  island?"  Aunt  Hetty  demanded  when 
she  was  told  of  the  proposed  change.  "Mary  needs 
lookin'  after ;  Jack  can  keep  on  buildin'  boats,  and 
goodness  knows  how  you  'd  ever  manage  out  there  all 
by  yourselves,  anyway.  It  ain't  a  very  sightly  place, 
but  Jack's  father  ain't  at  home  enough  to  have  it 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  H 

matter  where  I  live,"  she  added,  with  a  touch  of  bit 
terness.  Her  face  showed  that  she  had  lost  much  of 
the  song  out  of  life. 

There  were  evident  advantages  in  having  another 
family  on  the  island,  and  David  knew  the  good  heart 
that  lay  behind  Aunt  Hetty's  hasty  tongue ;  so  he 
wrote  for  permission.  It  was  granted,  and  the  house 
hold  goods  of  the  two  families  were  speedily  moved 
into  their  new  quarters. 

The  snug,  natural  harbor  formed  by  the  cove  and 
the  smooth  tawny  sand  beach  on  the  north  of  the 
island  gave  safe  anchorage  for  their  small  fleet  of 
boats.  The  two  houses  were  almost  within  speaking 
distance  of  each  other.  Aunt  Hetty  and  Jack  settled 
themselves  in  the  smaller  one,  close  to  the  new  wharf 
—  a  little  box  of  a  house. 

The  other,  a  plain  wooden  story-and-a-half  house, 
more  than  a  hundred  years  old,  looked  barren  and 
uninviting  indeed  when  Mary  and  her  father  entered 
it.  Two  moderate-sized  rooms,  one  on  each  side  of 
the  tiny  entry-way,  and  two  rooms  overhead,  an  ell 
kitchen  and  a  shed,  was  the  extent  of  the  houseroom. 
But  Mary's  deft  fingers  did  much  to  transform  the 
place.  The  sunny  kitchen  was  soon  shining  with  care  ; 


12  MARY  CAMERON:   A  ROMANCE 

leading  off  from  it  was  the  dining  room,  and  here 
Mary  had  her  sewing  machine.  Across  the  entry -way 
the  best  room  held  state,  full  of  old  furniture  ;  a  large 
cabinet  was  filled  with  curiosities  and  knickknacks 
from  over  the  seas  ;  on  the  walls  hung  two  marine 
pictures,  one  of  Captain  Cameron's  ship  under  full 
sail,  the  other  of  Hong  Kong  Harbor,  a  few  samplers 
worked  by  Mary's  mother,  and  a  steel  engraving  of 
Abraham  Lincoln,  "  one  of  the  biggest  men  that  ever 
lived,"  said  Captain  Cameron.  There  was  no  carpet, 
but  an  inheritance  of  braided  rugs  covered  the  floor. 
With  Jack's  help,  Mary  took  down  the  fireboard 
which  covered  the  huge,  high  fireplace  opening  into 
the  stout  central  chimney.  On  the  left  side  an  open 
cupboard  built  into  the  wall  furnished  a  place  for  their 
odds  and  ends  of  rare  old  Eastern  china,  on  the  right 
was  the  delight  of  her  heart,  a  "  speak-a-bit "  cor 
ner  or  ingle  nook — the  tradition  had  come  down  from 
remote  Scottish  ancestry  —  formed  by  a  wooden  settle 
which  extended  the  short  distance  between  the  fire 
place  and  the  south  window.  The  room  had  three 
windows  —  the  north  looking  out  over  the  sheltered 
cove  harbor,  the  south  toward  Seguin,  and  the  west 
over  to  Squirrel  Island  and  Southport. 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  13 

Mary  held  a  housewarming  in  the  best  room,  invit 
ing  the  other  family,  one  damp  May  evening  after 
they  were  well  settled.  "I'm  glad  we  are  oat  here 
just  by  ourselves,"  said  home-loving  Jack  as  they  sat 
around  the  soft  blazing  driftwood  fire. 

"Mary,  it's  dretful  extravagant  havin'  this  big 
fire,"  Aunt  Hetty  protested;  "you'll  burn  a  half  a 
cord  of  wood  every  time." 

"  Never  rnind,  Aunt  Hetty,"  answered  Mary  gaily. 
"We've  got  the  whole  Atlantic  Ocean  for  our  wood 
pile." 


14  MsUtY  CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 


CHAPTER   II. 

"  There  is  no  such  thing  as  chance,  and  what  seems  to  us 
Merest  accident,  springs  from  the  deepest  source  of 
destiny.'' 

—  Schiller. 

HOW  many  of  those  folks  is  comin',  do  you 
s'pose  ? "  Aunt  Hetty's  voice  was  pitched 
higher  than  usual. 

"Oh,  six  or  eight,"  answered  Mary,  pausing  from 
her  sweeping  to  look  out  of  the  western  window, 
"  and  I  hope  they  're  going  to  have  a  good  day." 

"I  sh'd  think  they  might  have  sent  more  notice," 
sniffed  Aunt  Hetty.  "  Serve  'em  right  if  it  did  rain. 
The  almanik  says  look  out  for  rain  about  this  time." 
She  took  the  frying  pan  off  the  stove,  and  walked 
with  quick,  nervous  steps  into  the  pantry.  The 
doughnuts,  crisp  and  brown,  were  piled  high  in  a  pan. 
Fresh  loaves  of  bread  and  crocks  of  cookies  filled  the 
pantry  shelves. 

"  I  'in  pretty  near  beat  out ;  here  we  've  done  nothing 
but  work,  work,  for  three  solid  days,  gettin'  ready,  and 
now  likely  's  not  it  '11  rain,  and  they  can't  come  after 
all,  —  more  's  the  pity,"  she  went  on,  inconsistently. 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  15 

"You  didn't  need  to  help;  I  could  have  got  along 
without  you,"  answered  Mary.  There  was  a  touch 
of  Scotch  fire  in  her  make-up,  and  she  banged  the 
kitchen  door  behind  her. 

"  That  niece  of  mine  has  been  more  trouble  to  me 
since  her  mother  died  than  my  Jack  has  all  his  life," 
Aunt  Hetty  invariably  told  her  Boothbay  friends.  "  I 
don't  know  why,  but  she  never  agrees  with  me.  She's 
dretful  headstrong.  Young  people  nowadays  is 
amazin'  cocksure  of  everything."  Yet  Aunt  Hetty 
devoted  herself  unsparingly  to  Mary,  and  she  had 
taken  hold  with  right  good  will  in  the  preparations  for 
the  owners'  visit. 

It  was  about  ten  o'clock.  The  wind,  easterly  in 
the  early  morning,  was  shifting  to  southwest  and  the 
low  mist  rolling  seaward. 

"Aunt  Hetty,  quick  !  Here's  the  steamer 
coming,"  cried  Mary,  running  in  from  the  front 
porch. 

"  This  ain't  no  time  to  be  dawdlin'  round  watchin' 
boats,"  replied  Aunt  Hetty  grimly.  "I've  got  to 
start  the  chowder  goin',  for  I  suppose  they  '11  be  most 
starved  when  they  get  here,  like  everybody  else. 
There 's  a  sight  of  work  to  be  done." 


16  MAST  CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

Mary,  disregarding  the  implied  suggestion,  hurried 
back  to  the  porch. 

"See  if  you  can  make  out  what  boat  it  is,"  said 
Captain  Cameron,  handing  the  marine  glasses  to  Jack, 
"  your  eyes  are  younger  than  mine."  All  three  were 
watching. 

"It's  the  Samoset,"  said  Jack,  who  could  name 
almost  every  craft  on  their  ocean  highway,  miles  off. 

Mary  disappeared  to  change  her  dress,  and  then  set 
out  for  the  wharf  with  her  father,  to  meet  the  party. 
Jack  vanished. 

A  sudden  feeling  of  dismay  seized  the  girl.  These 
people,  all  but  Judge  Westou  and  Rob,  were  stran 
gers  ;  and  Aunt  Hetty  had  announced,  "You've  got 
to  look  out  for  the  company  ;  I  ain't  the  lady  of  the 
house." 

When  Captain  Cameron  went  down  the  sluiceway 
to  help  fend  off  the  boat,  Mary  hung  back,  uncom 
fortably  conscious  that  she  was  the  target  of  many 
eyes.  The  heavy  gray  rocks  behind  the  girl  brought 
out  in  vivid  relief  her  tall  figure,  which  held  a  certain 
grace,  though  there  was  as  yet  little  of  the  softening 
touch  of  maturity.  On  nearer  view  her  face  was 
attractive.  The  damp  wind  had  ruffled  her  brown  hair 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  17 

into  clinging  disarray,  and  her  brown  eyes  looked  out 
with  a  direct,  appealing  glance  ;  the  sensitive  mouth  and 
firm,  round  chin  showed  determination  and  delicacy. 

Captain  Cameron's  face  glowed  with  genuine  hos 
pitality  as  Judge  Weston  introduced  his  companions. 
Mary  stayed  in  the  background,  and  felt  more  than 
ever  like  an  awkward  child  when  Judge  Weston,  lead 
ing  her  by  the  hand  out  before  the  entire  company, 
said,  "  This  is  my  godchild,  Miss  Mary  Weston 
Cameron,  the  presiding  genius  of  the  island."  Then 
he  led  the  way  with  her  to  the  house,  past  a  delightful 
confusion  of  boats,  lobster  traps,  and  fishing  gear. 
Last  of  all  to  step  up  on  the  little  porch  were  a  tall, 
well-built  young  man  and  the  most  beautiful  girl, 
Mary  thought,  that  she  had  ever  seen.  The  man, 
whom  Mary  recognized  instantly  as  Robert  Weston, 
came  up  to  her.  "How  do  you  do,  Miss  Mary?  I 
remember  you  in  Boothbay  long  ago.  Let  me  intro 
duce  you  to  Miss  Kendall." 

The  girl  said  something  conventional,  —  her  inde 
finable  air  of  superiority  seemed  to  stifle  Mary,  — 
then  she  joined  the  group  who  were  seating  themselves 
on  the  porch  and  the  rocks  around.  Mary  beat  a 
hasty  retreat  to  the  kitchen. 


18  MARY  CAMERON:   A  ROMANCE 

"  Your  chowder  's  ready,"  announced  Captain  Cam 
eron,  appearing  at  high  noon  round  the  side  of  the 
house,  with  a  preliminary  toot  of  his  fish  horn. 

Mary,  heated  and  flushed,  helped  serve  the  dinner. 
The  hurry  and  strangeness  of  her  position  took  her 
thoughts  from  herself.  She  caught  entertaining 
snatches  of  conversation,  and  listened,  wide-eyed,  to 
the  novelty  of  toasts.  Dinner  over,  the  island  owners 
—  there  were  five  of  them  here,  one,  a  man  well 
known  in  the  Senate  of  his  country, —  spent  an  hour  in 
the  quaint  parlor,  smoking  and  talking  over  plans  for 
a  clubhouse,  while  the  ladies,  glad  to  escape  from  the 
hot  dining  room,  sat  outside,  listlessly  waiting.  Mary 
joined  them  shyly,  forgetting  that  Aunt  Hetty  was 
toiling  over  the  dishwashing  ;  and  she  covertly  noticed 
everything  connected  with  these  unknown  people. 
What  wouldn't  she  give  if  she  could  only  sit  there  so 
calmly,  gracefully,  like  Miss  Kendall,  taking  part  in 
the  chance  talk,  and  looking  (she  said  to  herself,  pas 
sionately)  "  as  I  couldn't  look  if  I  tried  a  hundred 
years." 

Miss  Kendall,  who  was  evidently  about  Mary's  own 
age,  had  dark  eyes,  a  fair,  clear  complexion,  and  was 
daintily  dressed  from  hat  to  shoes.  The  other  girl, 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  19 

with  yellow  hair,  frank  gray  eyes,  and  a  well-built, 
strong-looking  figure,  was  Miss  Merrick,  the  picture  of 
good  health  and  easy  good  nature.  Both  girls  seemed 
quiet ;  but  Mary  noticed  that  their  faces  brightened 
when  the  gentlemen  joined  the  group. 

"  Now  those  of  you  who  are  good  walkers  would 
better  climb  that  hill  and  get  a  look  at  Monhegan 
Island  and  Pemaquid,  then  come  back  round  by  way 
of  the  south  shore,"  said  Judge  Weston,  seating  him 
self  in  an  old  straight-backed,  flag-bottomed  chair. 
"  I  'in  too  heavy  and  too  short  of  breath  for  much 
walking.  Miss  Mary  will  show  you  the  way.  You 
go,  too,  Mrs.  Sargent ;  I  will  take  care  of  little 
Katharine."  And  the  party  started  off,  leaving  the 
five-year-old  girl  perched  on  Judge  Weston's  knee, 
listening  with  big  round  eyes  to  the  story  of  the  old 
Indian  king  Samoset,  who  used  to  cruise  around  the 
island  in  a  black  boat  on  dark  nights. 

Mary,  bareheaded,  led  the  way  up  the  winding  path, 
past  the  boathouse  and  clumps  of  tall  raspberry 
bushes.  Rob  Weston  kept  close  pace  with  her,  admir 
ing  with  his  artist's  eye  her  lithe,  elastic  motion,  for 
long  climbing  over  the  rocks  had  made  her  as  grace 
ful  and  sure-footed  as  a  deer.  "  I  must  sketch  that 


20  MARY  CAMERON:  A   ROMANCE 

girl  sometime,"  he  said  enthusiastically  to  Miss  Ken 
dall,  falling  behind  for  a  moment.  Eyes  shining, 
cheeks  reddened  with  the  exercise,  hair  wind-tumbled, 
Mary  made  a  suggestive  picture  as  she  stood  on  the 
little  pile  of  stones  that  marked  the  summit  of  the 
island.  Miss  Kendall  did  not  like  her  any  the  better 
for  it. 

From  the  summit  to  the  south  shore  was  a  good 
twenty  minute  walk.  Bordered  with  golden-rod  and 
white  elder  blossoms,  the  path  ran  along  by  the 
marsh  over  the  ridge  to  the  bar,  where  Mary  told 
them  the  sea  swept  across  in  rough  weather,  making 
two  islands  of  the  one  —  on  over  the  rocky  pasture 
end,  until  they  came  to  the  steep  white  rocks,  the  air 
freshening  ever,  the  noise  of  the  sea  beating  down 
their  voices.  Monhegan  Island  lay  forty  miles  to  the 
left,  Damariscove  a  few  miles  ahead,  and  Seguin  well 
off  to  the  southwest  —  all  set  in  the  brimming,  exult 
ing  sea. 

"  Every  breath  you  draw  has  a  cool,  invigorating 
core  to  it,"  said  Senator  Kendall  gratefully.  He  had 
not  been  long  away  from  stifling  Washington. 

But  there  was  only  time  for  a  glance  at  the  broad 
panorama,  for  Mary,  as  her  quick  ear  caught  a  far- 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  21 

away  whistle,  exclaimed,  "There  comes  the  boat  for 
you,"  and  they  turned  regretfully  back. 

On  their  return  walk  Miss  Kendall  tried  to  draw 
Mary  into  conversation.  "  What  can  yon  possibly  find 
to  do  out  here  on  this  lonely  island?  "  she  asked,  with 
languid  interest. 

"  Plenty,  every  day,"  was  Mary's  laconic,  loyal 
reply.  Ill  at  ease,  self-conscious  in  the  presence  of 
these  two  city  girls,  she  now  only  wanted  them  to  be 
gone ;  she  was  not  like  them.  Drawn  by  an  instinc 
tive  sympathy,  however,  she  fell  behind  with  Mrs. 
Sargent,  who  showed  so  kind  an  interest  that  Mary 
was  led  to  talk  freely  about  herself  ;  her  heart  warmed, 
too,  toward  Mr.  Loring  —  John,  the  old  judge  called 
him  —  who  shook  hands  cordially  when  he  bade  her 
good-by,  and  said,  "  You  have  helped  give  us  a  happy 
day,  which  I  shall  always  remember." 

"  If  you  've  carried  off  some  of  the  island's  sand  in 
your  shoes  you  '11  be  comin'  back  again  ;  it 's  a  sure 
sign,"  was  Captain  Cameron's  farewell. 

"  Aye,  aye,  Captain,  we  '11  come  many  a  time,"  said 
Senator  Kendall,  standing,  hat  off,  at  the  boat's  stern. 

Judge  Weston  and  Rob  remained.  Supper  was  a 
rather  silent  meal.  Jack  had  not  come  in  from  hauling 


22  MARY  CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

lobster  traps,  Aunt  Hetty  was  out  of  sorts  and  spoke 
only  to  ask  their  wants,  and  Rob  Weston  ate  with 
a  ravenous  appetite.  Captain  Cameron  and  Judge 
Weston  talked  spasmodically  of  the  locality  of  Pente 
cost  Harbor,  where,  according  to  Hosier's  narrative, 
"the  ship  of  Captain  George  Weymouth,  the  Arch 
angel,  lay  at  her  moorings  May  30,  1605,  under  an 
island  in  the  capacious  and  newly  discovered  haven." 
Judge  Weston  was  disposed  to  think  the  "  island " 
Fisherman's,  the  "haven"  Boothbay  Harbor. 

Supper  over,  Mary  started  Aunt  Hetty  homeward. 
"Poor,  tired  Aunt  Hetty,"  she  said  to  herself  re 
proachfully.  Then  she  washed  and  set  away  the  sup 
per  dishes,  put  some  bread  to  rise,  and  crept  off  to 
bed,  miserably  out  of  peace  with  herself  and  all  the 
world. 

Down  on  the  rocks  by  the  water's  edge,  Rob  Weston 
was  dreaming  dreams  of  his  art  and  seeing  visions 
of  the  future.  He  liked  the  sense  of  the  great  over 
arching  sky,  the  glinting  stars,  the  untamed  ocean 
wearing  itself  restlessly  against  the  rocks,  each  force 
bounded  by  itself,  pouring  all  its  power  into  its  own 
mighty  life. 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  23 


CHAPTER    III. 

"  Speak  a  speech  that  no  man  knoweth, 
Tree  that  sigheth,  wind  that  blovveth, 
Wave  that  floweth." 

—  William  Watson. 

E  limpid  sea  lay  like  an  unclouded  mirror  the 
-L  next  morning.  Rob  was  out  and  up  on  the 
island  hilltop  soon  after  breakfast  to  get  the  glory  of 
the  morning  light  into  his  mind.  But  after  a  few 
moments  Mary,  from  the  kitchen  window,  saw  him 
plunging  with  long  strides  down  the  hill.  Out  he 
came  where  she  was  washing  dishes,  his  blue  eyes 
shining,  his  thick,  tawny-yellow  hair  rumpled  from 
his  haste. 

"  Come  on,  Miss  Mary,  let's  go  for  a  row  around 
the  island  while  it 's  calm." 

"But  I've  got  all  my  morning  work  to  do,"  she 
answered,  the  rich  color  rising  into  her  face. 

"Oh,  never  mind!  I'll  help;  it  won't  take  us 
long."  And  he  whisked  an  apron  from  its  peg,  tied  it 
around  his  waist,  and  helped  in  such  a  boyish,  bother 
ing  fashion  that  Mary,  in  self-defense  as  the  last  dish 
was  dried,  said,  "  There,  I  '11  go  now,  but  let's  hurry 


24  MARY   CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

off,  for  if  Aunt  Hetty  sees  me  she  will  find  some 
reason  for  my  staying  at  home." 

Mary's  own  boat,  a  trim  little  craft,  painted  green 
below  and  blue  above  the  water  line  —  to  match  the 
sea  and  the  sky,  she  explained  —  was  moored  off  the 
old  pier  on  the  point.  She  jumped  in  first,  pulled  the 
boat  out  by  the  stern  line,  unfastened  it,  and  was 
putting  the  oars  in  place  when  Rob  brought  the  boat 
in  by  the  painter,  stepped  in,  and  taking  possession  of 
the  oars  said,  "  At  least  you  '11  let  me  do  the  rowing." 

"  Why,  yes,  if  you  want  to."  Mary's  cheeks  crim 
soned.  She  had  done  something  wrong,  judging  by 
his  tone. 

Rob's  long,  steady  strokes  sent  the  boat  swiftly 
through  the  narrow  channel  on  the  north,  separating 
Fisherman's  from  Ram  Island,  that  little  rocky  spot 
where  the  lighthouse  clung.  The  point  rounded,  he 
let  the  boat  drift  with  the  outgoing  tide.  The  water 
was  indescribably  clear;  looking  into  depths,  he  could 
see  shells  and  barnacle-studded  rocks  on  the  sandy 
bottom  twenty  feet  below. 

Mary  made  no  effort  to  talk.  She  was  looking  sea 
ward  now,  and  Rob  Weston  was  looking  at  her.  The 
soft  brown  tarn  o'  shauter  cap  which  she  wore  deep- 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  26 

ened  the  color  in  her  eyes,  her  hair  gleamed  with  warm 
lights,  and  her  brown  blouse  waist  helped  make  a  har 
mony  so  complete  that  Rob  vowed  mentally  to  sketch 
her  that  afternoon  "if  she'll  let  me."  She  was  not 
like  other  girls  he  knew. 

"These  are  the  Hypocrites,"  she  said,  suddenly 
rousing  herself  as  Rob  rowed  into  one  of  the  narrow 
channels  between  the  long  ridges  of  white  rock  to 
the  east  of  the  island.  "  Years  ago  a  sea  captain 
ran  his  brig  ashore  here.  He  thought  he  was  in  deep 
water,  and  that  the  white  he  saw  away  ahead  was 
a  sand  beach ;  so  he  afterwards  named  the  rocks 
'  Hypocrites.'" 

A  few  clouds  were  in  sight  now,  and  curling  tremors 
of  wind  broke  the  serenity  of  the  sea.  When  they 
rounded  the  south  shore,  choppy  waves  were  dashing 
against  the  shelving  white  rocks.  The  boat  began  to 
toss  violently,  yielding  to  the  great  living  pulse  of  the 
sea.  They  were  dangerously  near  the  long  lines  of 
reef.  Mary  sat  very  quiet,  with  the  habit  of  one  ac 
customed  to  boats.  Rob  threw  off  his  cap,  set  him 
self  square  at  the  work,  and  rowed  around  the  point 
without  their  taking  in  a  drop  of  water.  He  had 
been  on  the  'Varsity  crew  in  college,  and  as  he  sat 


26  MARY  CAMEEON:   A   ROMANCE 

there  opposite  her,  erect,   flushed,   victorious,  it  was 
her  turn  to  look  at  him. 

The  glimmering  purple-green  color  of  the  sea,  the 
shifting  clouds  with  their  stir  of  life,  absorbed  Rob 
into  the  impersonal  condition  common  to  the  artist 
nature,  and  woke,  too,  the  touch  of  melancholy  never 
far  away.  Forgetting  Mary,  he  was  saying  softly  to 
himself  :  — 

"  Break,  break,  break, 

On  thy  cold  gray  stones,  O  Sea, 
And  I  would  that  my  tongue  could  utter 
The  thoughts  that  arise  in  me !  " 

44 That  is  from  Tennyson,  isn't  it?"  asked  Mary 
shyly. 

"  Yes  ;  what  do  you  know  about  Tennyson?  "  came 
the  confusing  question. 

"  Oh,  I  read  his  poems  sometimes." 

"What  else  do  you  read?"  There  was  distinct 
condescension  in  Rob's  tone. 

"  Whatever  comes  my  way,"  was  her  short  answer. 
And  he  could  get  nothing  more  than  "yes  "  or  "  no  " 
from  her. 

' '  Do  you  read  much  ?  " 

"  Yes." 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  27 

"  Do  you  like  living  here?" 

"  Yes."     She  would  not  have  said  "  no." 

"  Better  than  Boothbay  ? " 

"  No,"  reluctantly. 

"  Do  you  like  nature  —  birds  and  such  things?  " 

"  Yes." 

Rob  gave  it  up  as  hopeless  ;  in  fact,  pulling  along 
the  rough  western  shore  against  the  tide  was  enough 
to  occupy  his  attention.  Every  now  and  then  he  stole 
a  glance  at  her  as  she  sat  there,  immovable,  petulant, 
her  mouth  compressed  into  a  straight  red  line,  her 
beautiful  hair  blowing  about  her  face.  "She's  a 
stubborn  little  thing,"  he  said  to  himself. 

When  they  reached  the  wharf  he  helped  her  out  with 
a  great  show  of  gallantry,  saying,  "  I  '11  see  to  fasten 
ing  the  boat."  She  seemed  relieved  to  let  him,  and 
hurried  off  to  the  house. 

Her  mood  changed  at  dinner,  —  a  scanty  meal  that 
suffered  because  of  her  absence,  —  and  she  talked 
excitedly  of  her  flowers,  the  sea  gulls,  fishhawks, 
and  her  tame  squirrels.  She  wore  her  new  dress, 
which  Aunt  Hetty  had  made,  —  a  bright  plaid,  with 
broad  lines  of  red,  blue,  green,  and  yellow. 

"  Heavens  !   what  a  gown  !  "  said  Rob  to   himself. 


28  MART  CAMEEON:  A  ROMANCE 

"Why  hadn't  I  sketched  her  in  that  old  brown  rig 
this  morning?  I  can't  get  her  now  !  " 

While  Mary  was  hastily  cooking  the  fish  dinner, 
Rob,  out  in  the  boathouse,  had  made  friends  with 
Jack,  and  the  two  had  agreed  to  go  gunning.  Jack 
was  a  fine-faced  lad  of  sixteen,  with  the  far-away  look 
of  the  sea  in  his  blue  eyes ;  a  goodly  youth,  sun- 
browned,  strong,  straight,  and  supple  of  limb. 

Crack !  crack !  came  the  sound  of  their  guns  all 
the  long  afternoon.  Judge  Weston  had  been  looking 
over  law  papers  during  the  morning  ;  now,  his  after- 
dinner  pipe  smoked,  he  was  peacefully  napping  in 
Mary's  cushioned  "  speak-a-bit "  corner.  Captain 
Cameron  was  off  fishing.  Aunt  Hetty  had  kept  away 
from  the  house  all  day.  Mary  wandered  about  rest 
lessly. 

When  the  sun's  rays  began  to  slant  across  the 
island,  the  two  sportsmen  came  home  down  over  the 
hill.  Mary  ran  out  to  meet  them.  "  What  luck  did 
you  have  ?  "  she  asked  eagerly. 

She  saw  in  a  moment.  There  was  a  magnificent 
great  sea  gull,  its  white  breast  torn  and  stained,  two 
beautiful  herons  with  drooping  heads,  and  one  of  her 
gray  squirrels. 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND,  29 

"You  dreadful,  dreadful  mail  to  kill  my  squir 
rel!"  she  blazed  at  him,  her  face  afire.  "How 
could  you !  O  Jack,  why  did  you  let  him  !  " 

"  Why,  Miss  Mary,  I  didn't  know  it  was  yours," 
Rob  said  with  real  distress.  In  the  zest  of  the  shoot 
ing  he  had  forgotten  Mary's  story  of  the  squirrels, 
and  seeing  a  good  shot,  although  he  was  not  out  for 
such  small  game,  he  had  brought  it  down. 

"They're  all  mine,"  she  said,  darting  a  defiant 
glance  at  him,  "and  it's  just  because  I've  tamed 
them  that  they  didn't  keep  out  of  your  way."  (Small 
credit  to  my  aim,  thought  Rob.)  "It's  all  Jack's 
fault ;  he  ought  to  have  told  you,"  she  went  on  with 
quick  justice. 

"I  —  I  didn't  think  you'd  mind  just  one,"  said 
Jack  lamely. 

"Of  course  I  do,  you  cowardly  thing."  Her  anger 
was  breaking  out  again,  and  she  ran  into  the  house, 
too  proud  to  show  any  more  feeling. 

Later,  she  slipped  over  to  Aunt  Hetty's.  "You 
must  come  to  supper,"  she  insisted.  And  Aunt 
Hetty  was  quite  ready  to  forego  her  solitude.  Jack 
talked  boats  with  Rob.  Judge  Weston  praised  the 
clam  stew  and  Mary's  cooking,  but  she  sat  sullen, 


30  MARY   CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

unresponsive.  The  old  man  glanced  at  her  keenly 
from  time  to  time. 

Nineteen  years  ago  that  spring,  when  visiting 
Boothbay,  Judge  Weston  learned  that  a  baby  daugh 
ter  had  come  to  David  Cameron's  home,  and  he  had 
asked  to  be  godfather,  with  the  privilege  of  naming 
the  child  Mary  for  his  mother.  Ever  since,  even  in 
his  busy  existence,  he  had  kept  in  touch  with  her 
young  life.  As  a  baby,  Mary  wound  her  arms  about 
his  neck,  holding  him  with  all  her  tiny  strength  when 
it  was  time  for  him  to  go.  She  had  grown  shy  in  the 
last  years,  for  she  seldom  saw  him,  but  he  was  con 
tinually  glorified  in  her  young  imagination. 

There  was  many  a  charming  side  to  this  man's  life. 
He  was  a  literary  Bohemian,  and  in  his  bachelor  quar 
ters  on Street,  in  Boston,  there  were  rare  old 

volumes  —  old  friends  with  whom  he  loved  to  commune. 
He  had  many  idiosyncrasies,  which  a  comfortable  in 
heritance  and  a  good  law  practice  in  the  past  enabled 
him  to  indulge  ;  and  his  personality  was  picturesque. 
His  bristling,  bushy  eyebrows  and  dark,  piercing  eyes 
ornamented  a  fine  head  set  on  a  rather  heavy,  thick-set 
frame.  In  movement  he  was  slow,  and  in  dress  care 
less.  His  hats  were  a  noticeable  feature  of  his  dress 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  31 

—  a  Panama  straw  in  summer  and  a  broad-brimmed 
beaver  in  winter.  His  wit  bubbled  luminously,  and 
his  cheerful  ready  smile  made  one  feel  always  wel 
come.  Of  an  ardent  and  impulsive  temperament,  he 
was  fond  of  people,  and  felt  life  keenly.  Yet  he  had 
the  calm  philosophy  of  content ;  others  might  do  the 
fretting  and  the  worrying.  His  was  the  philosophy 
that  cultivates  the  humanities  and  encourages  the 
amenities  of  life,  that  helps  lift  the  feet  of  the  weary 
and  lighten  the  load  of  the  afflicted. 

As  he  sat  smoking  on  the  porch  that  evening  in 
the  glowing  twilight,  the  kind  old  man  called  Mary 
to  him,  and  began  talking  about  life.  Much  that 
he  said  ran  counter  to  the  girl's  world  of  ideals, 
for  she  was  singularly  childlike  in  her  knowledge  of 
life ;  but  she  entered  into  every  situation  with  singular 
intelligence  and  sympathy,  having  almost  invariably 
the  right  instinct.  Then  he  turned  the  conversation 
to  herself.  He  had  observed  her  closely  these  last 
two  days,  and  the  instincts  of  fatherhood  are  strong 
in  thoughtful  men. 

"It  is  character  that  counts  in  this  world,  after 
all,  Mary.  You  must  be  true  to  your  best  self,  the 
best  you  can  learn  from  people,  from  books,  from  the 


32  MARY   CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

Bible.  Study  and  learn  and  observe  all  you  can. 
You  will  not  always  live  here,  cut  off  from  the  world, 
though  there  is  many  a  girl  who  would  be  glad  of  such 
a  comfortable  home." 

"  How  can  I  learn  anything  out  here?  "  asked  Mary 
with  a  discontented  sigh. 

"Your  father  has  a  fair  education,  for  he  has  kept 
his  eyes  open  going  about  the  world  ;  he  can  help  you, 
and  you  can  help  Jack.  When  you  have  a  chance, 
notice  how  young  ladies  like  Miss  Kendall  and  Miss 
Merrick  carry  themselves."  Mary  made  inward  protest. 

"  Try  to  be  always  bright  and  happy,"  he  went  on, 
for  he  had  noted  her  latent  tendency  to  morbidness. 
"  Learn  to  make  your  own  sunshine.  A  man  likes  to 
come  home  to  a  sunshiny  woman  ;  it  helps  him  to  the 
brave  attitude  of  life  that  Robert  Louis  Stevenson 
writes  about.  It 's  a  lonely  life  at  best  for  a  man  or 
a  woman,  without  the  anchor  of  a  home  —  lonelier  for 
a  man,  because  a  woman  makes  a  home  wherever  she 
hangs  up  her  stocking  bag.  And  what  it  means  to  a 
man  to  come  home  at  night  to  a  cheerful,  sunny 
woman,  only  he  knows  who  lias  had  to  fight  the  hard 
battle  of  life  alone." 

The  judge   stopped  talking.     Mary   moved  nearer. 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  33 

and  timidly  put  her  hand  in  his.  There  is  a  silence 
between  friends  that  is  more  eloquent  than  words. 

Ram  Island  light  was  sending  its  mild  red  rays  over 
the  neighboring  waters.  The  quiet  waves  lapped 
against  the  rocks  with  a  soothing  murmur.  Overhead 
the  watchful  stars  seemed  to  bend  nearer,  and  the 
air  was  full  of  the  subtle  fragrance  of  the  sea. 

Rob  appeared  in  the  doorway.  "Uncle  Levi, 
you  '11  be  getting  rheumatism  out  here,"  he  remon 
strated,  '"and  you  know  we  must  start  out  early  to 
morrow." 

Judge  Weston  roused  himself  from  his  reverie  and 
went  in,  first  shaking  hands  warmly  with  Mary. 

"  Wait  a  minute,  will  you,  Miss  Mary,"  said  Rob. 
"  I'm  awfully  sorry  that  I  shot  your  squirrel.  I  can't 
bring  him  back  to  life,  but  Jack  has  promised  to  get 
him  stuffed  for  me  over  at  Boothbay.  Will  you  keep 
the  squirrel,  and  remember  to  forgive  me?" 

His  earnest  voice,  the  deference  of  his  manner, 
made  longer  resentment  impossible,  sore  as  Mary's 
heart  was.  And  she  answered  with  a  break  in  her 
voice  that  he  found  bewitching,  "I  know  you  didn't 
mean  to  do  it.  I  will  keep  him  to  remember  you  by." 

She  held  out  her  hand  in   token  of  forgiveness  as 


34  MAEY  CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

she  turned  to  go  into  the  house.  He  took  it  with  such 
a  close,  lingering  pressure  that  she  was  glad  the  dark 
ness  hid  her  suddenly  burning  cheeks. 

The  two  guests  were  off  to  Boothbay  early  the  next 
morning,  to  connect  with  the  Bath  steamboat  for 
Boston.  Why  did  the  day  seem  so  cheerless  all  at 
once  to  Mary  as  she  watched  the  vanishing  figures  ? 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  35 


CHAPTER    IV. 

"In  youth,  beside  the  lonely  sea, 
Visions  :md  voices  came  to  me." 

—  Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich. 

AFTER  winter  fairly  set  in,  the  Fisherman's  Island 
-£-V_  people  found  life,  the  mere  living  of  it,  quite 
as  much  as  they  could  manage,  thrown  so  entirely  as 
they  were  upon  their  own  resources.  The  weather 
became  the  matter  of  first  importance  —  as  happens 
always  with  people  living  in  isolated  places ;  the 
changes  of  the  sky  and  sea,  the  flitting  of  coasting 
vessels  to  and  fro,  the  visits  of  the  sea  fowl,  sun 
rise  and  sunset,  the  changing  moon,  the  northern 
lights,  the  wheeling  constellations,  made  up  the  out 
ward  events  of  the  days  and  weeks. 

Mary  had  faced  the  thought  of  the  winter,  with  its 
solitude,  bravely,  but  the  finer  balanced  mind  loses 
elasticity  and  stagnates  in  such  extreme  isolation. 
Aunt  Hetty  kept  bustlingly  busy  from  morn  till  night, 
doing  her  daily  housework  with  infinite  care  and  scrup 
ulousness,  then  using  the  short  afternoon  daylight  for 
sewing  and  the  long  evenings  to  knit  stockings  or 


36  MAR Y  CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

work  on  carpet  rags.  Captain  Cameron  and  Jack 
went  the  rounds  of  their  hundred  or  more  lobster  pots 
every  morning,  except  in  severest  weather,  and  after 
noons  worked  in  the  boat  shop,  where  Captain  Cam 
eron  was  building  a  stout  dory,  and  Jack  remodeling 
bis  catboat  the  Kady. 

The  winter  came  hardest  on  Mary.  Their  little 
house  seemed  almost  to  take  care  of  itself.  She 
was  too  vigorous-natured  to  sit  contentedly  sewing 
seams  or  knitting  all  day  long ;  there  were  no 
visitors  to  come  and  no  places  for  her  to  go  save 
to  see  Aunt  Hetty,  or  occasionally,  on  fair,  still 
days,  to  Boothbay  with  her  father  or  Jack  on  their 
weekly  trips  for  supplies.  Once  in  a  while  Jack 
spared  time  to  take  her  over  to  spend  a  half  day  on 
Ram  Island. 

So  she  turned  to  reading  everything  that  fell  into 
her  hands  —  the  papers  that  Judge  Weston  sent  each 
week,  the  books,  indifferently  chosen,  which  the  light 
house  tender  left  at  Ram  Island  once  a  month,  and 
over  and  over  again  the  books  which  Rob  Weston  had 
left  —  novels  of  the  Duchess  and  the  Rider  Haggard 
type  —  summer  reading,  as  one  says,  mainly  of  the 
kind  to  stir  the  imagination  and  awaken  an  unnatural, 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  37 

distorted  sense  of  realities.  She  read  in  her  own  espe 
cial  corner,  too,  recklessly  building  roaring  fires  in  the 
great  fireplace.  Aunt  Hetty  grumbled  when  she  saw 
the  fresh  smoke  curl  up  from  the  other  house  chimney 
nearly  every  afternoon. 

"  I  declare  for  it,  David  Cameron,  the  way  you  fetch 
an'  carry  for  that  girl  makes  my  own  back  ache," 
Aunt  Hetty  remonstrated  with  her  brother-in-law. 

But  he  invariably  answered,  "  Mary  shall  have  her 
fire  just  as  she  wants  it,  even  if  I  have  to  go  over  to 
the  main  for  wood.  It 's  about  her  only  pleasure." 

Once  in  a  while  the  strain  of  the  loneliness  grew 
too  great  to  endure  in  silence.  To  Mary's  passionate 
complaint,  "I  wish  something,  anything,  would  hap 
pen,"  Aunt  Hetty,  self-centered,  unimaginative,  re 
plied  :  — 

"  I  call  that  temptin'  Providence.  I  don't  see  why 
anybody  should  complain  when  she  's  got  work  enough 
to  do  an'  a  roof  over  her  head  an'  enough  to  eat." 

Then  repentant,  remorseful,  after  she  went  home, 
the  girl  would  rush  back  to  Aunt  Hetty  and  beg  her 
never,  never  to  tell  her  father  that  she  was  lonely. 

So  the  winter  wore  away,  and  Mary  learned  the 
beginning  of  that  lesson  of  renunciation  whose  chap- 


38  MARY  CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

ters  we  must  study  one  by  one,  until  the  lesson  of 
greater  gain  is  grafted  in  peace  upon  our  hearts. 

Spring  comes  slowly  along  the  Maine  coast,  and 
nature  does  not  thoroughly  rouse  herself  until  well 
into  April.  Mary's  spirits  woke  with  the  season. 
She  scoured  the  house  from  top  to  bottom  until  every 
thing  shone,  then  settled  herself  cheerfully  to  the 
slow  task  of  making  over  her  last  year's  dresses,  with 
Aunt  Hetty's  help.  She  would  rather  have  been  out 
of  doors  where  the  sprouting  grass,  the  budding 
trees,  and  the  birds  seemed  to  call  her  continually. 
Sometimes  she  and  Jack  ran  races  the  length  of  the 
island.  As  the  days  grew  warmer,  she  planted  flower 
seeds  in  every  available  spot  near  the  house,  and  fell 
into  the  habit  of  taking  long  walks  over  the  island. 
Nature  seemed  to  answer  her  moods,  and  she  was 
better  content  with  the  island  life. 

All  through  the  winter  and  spring  the  two  families 
talked  of  the  owners'  coming  in  the  summer.  It  was 
early  in  July,  however,  before  any  message  arrived. 

"  Only  three  members  of  the  association  can  come  this 
year,"  wrote  Judge  Weston,  "  Mr.  Sargent,  Mr.  Lor- 
ing,  and  myself.  Rob  Weston  is  coming  with  me,  and 
Mrs.  Sargent  is  to  bring  Miss  Kendall.  Expect  us 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  39 

the  first  Wednesday  in  August  for  a  fish-chowder 
dinner.  Rob  and  I  will  stay  over  night,  if  you  can 
keep  us." 

Jt  was  the  evening  before  the  appointed  day.  Mary 
was  sitting  out  late  on  the  little  porch,  her  tired  mind 
working  incoherently.  To-morrow  she  would  see 
Rob  Weston  —  Miss  Kendall,  too.  All  during  the 
long  winter  she  had  been  endowing  Rob  with  the 
virtues,  the  vigor,  the  comeliness  combined  in  every 
hero  of  every  book  she  had  read,  and  she  had  pic 
tured  again  and  again  her  meeting  with  him. 

It  takes  only  a  slight  reality  to  make  a  hook  for  a 
woman  to  hang  an  ideal  upon,  and  Mary  Cameron  was 
no  exception  ;  rather,  indeed,  the  isolation  of  her  life, 
the  untried  depths  of  her  nature,  but  added  strength 
to  the  hook  and  adornment  to  the  ideal. 

"  Mary  !  "  called  Captain  Cameron  from  the  kitchen, 
where  he  sat  reading  his  Bible,  "you'd  better  come 
in  ;  it 's  getting  damp,  and  it 's  time  you  was  goin' 
to  bed." 

Captain  Cameron  was  a  devout  man.  Years  ago, 
as  he  honestly  told  now,  he  had  led  a  wild,  hard  life. 
When  he  was  forty  years  old  he  married  a  Boothbay 
school-teacher  —  all  conscience  and  love,  from  whom 


40  MARY  CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

Mary  inherited  much  of  her  temperament  —  who 
thought  she  could  regenerate  the  stalwart,  high-tem 
pered  young  sea  captain.  But  it  was  not  until  two 
happy  years  before  Mrs.  Cameron  died  that  the 
change  came. 

Nowadays  every  Sunday  the  old  man  went  in  sun 
shine  and  in  storm,  too,  whenever  possible,  to  the 
morning  service  at  St.  Anne's,  in  Hoothbay,  the 
Episcopal  chapel  where  his  wife  had  been  a  steadfast 
worker.  Then  in  the  afternoons  —  his  cold  lunch 
eaten,  or  having  taken  dinner  with  some  old  friend  — 
he  conducted  a  mission  Sunday-school  class  for  the 
Boothbay  young  men,  in  an  old  storeroom  near  the 
wharves,  where  chance  sailors  could  drop  in. 

He  read  nothing  but  religious  newspapers  and  his 
Bible,  —  Mary  and  Jack,  from  their  reading,  told  him 
what  was  going  on  in  the  world,  —  and  every  night  he 
held  family  prayers  in  the  little  kitchen  —  trustful  end 
ings  to  homely  days.  There  was  always  an  earnest, 
patient  prayer,  "  That  it  may  please  thee,  in  thy  mercy, 
O  Lord,  to  bring  back  my  boy  Edwin,  and  forgive  me 
for  driving  him  away  from  home  in  the  days  of  my 
sinfulness,"  —  for  his  only  son  Edwin,  eight  years 
Mary's  senior,  had,  in  a  passion  of  anger  over  palpable 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  41 

injustice  from  his  father,  run  away  to  sea  ten  years 
ago,  and  never  been  heard  from  by  any  sign  or  trace. 

Captain  Cameron's  simple  human  faith  of  his  latter 
days,  born  out  of  much  tribulation,  absorbed  his  mind 
and  gave  peculiar  tone  to  all  his  utterances.  His  in 
heritance,  from  a  Scotch  grandfather,  of  firm  energy  of 
will,  and  his  wide  acquaintance  through  his  former 
roving  life  with  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men, 
saved  him  from  weak  fluctuations  of  purpose  and 
despondency,  and  saved  him,  too,  from  leading  that 
dual  life  common  to  elderly  men  of  the  rigid  New 
England  type,  whose  spiritual  fervor  finds  no  channels 
through  their  daily  lives.  Even  Aunt  Hetty  said  of 
him,  "  I'm  one  of  the  folks  that  like  to  watch  your 
Sunday  Christians  between  Sundays  ;  but  you  don't 
need  to  watch  David  Cameron." 

To-night  when  they  rose  from  their  knees,  Mary 
put  her  arms  impetuously  around  her  father's  neck. 
"I'm  so  happy  here  with  you,  father.  Don't  let's 
go  away,  ever  !  "  and  she  burst  out  crying. 

"  Why,  Mary  !  you  're  all  nerved  up.  Come,  come, 
go  to  bed,"  said  her  father,  kissing  her  with  more 
than  usual  tenderness. 


42  MARY  CAME  EON:   A   ROMANCE 


CHAPTER   V. 

"  The  gods  approve  the  depth  and  not  the  tumult  of 
the  soul." 

—  William  Wordsworth. 

~T~f"T~HEN    the  steamboat  puffed  up    to    the    wharf 

»  »  and  landed  the  party  the  next  morning,  Mary 
was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  But  just  before  noon  she 
came  to  greet  them.  They  all  looked  up  surprised 
when  the  girl  appeared  among  them  on  the  porch. 

Judge  Weston's  outspoken  "  Why,  Mary,  I  hardly 
knew  you  !  "  brought  a  warm  rush  of  color  into  her 
cheeks. 

"Jove!  she's  prettier  than  ever,"  said  Rob 
Weston  to  himself,  as  he  waited  his  turn  to  shake 
hands.  "  I  remember  my  good  times  here  last  sum 
mer,"  was  his  greeting,  with  a  straightforward  look  of 
admiration  in  his  handsome  eyes. 

The  girl  had  improved  in  every  way  ;  a  shy  dignity 
struggled  with  and  conquered  her  self-consciousness. 
One  cannot  live  close  to  nature  and  not  gain  some 
thing  of  her  trauquility. 

"What  have  you  done  with  yourself  all  winter?" 
asked  Miss  Kendall,  with  a  show  of  interest. 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  43 

"Read  —  when  I've  not  been  working,"  answered 
Mary  laconically.  The  old  antagonism  would  rise. 

"Dear  me!  I  might  read  for  hours,  and  then  if  I 
looked  out  and  saw  all  this  water  and  desolation, 
every  single  thing  would  go  out  of  my  head.  But 
then,  you  have  n't  been  used  to  winters  in  Boston." 
Miss  Kendall  looked  very  dainty  and  high-bred,  and 
her  red  sunshade  cast  a  becoming  glow  over  her 
face  as  she  went  on  reminiscencing  with  Rob  Weston 
about  club  meetings  and  theater  parties  the  past 
winter. 

Mrs.  Sargent  saw  Mary's  gathering  discomfiture  and 
came  to  the  rescue.  "  My  boys  begged  me  to  find  out 
about  the  fox-farming  on  Damariscove  Island.  Are 
there  really  foxes  so  near?" 

"  Yes ;  Jack  took  me  over  to  see  them  once." 
And  Mary,  in  her  soft  voice,  touched  with  the  rich 
ness  of  the  Scotch,  told  about  the  blue  and  the 
silver-gray  foxes  brought  from  Alaska  and  left  to 
run  wild  on  Damariscove.  Mr.  Loring,  near  at 
hand,  listened  with  keen  enjoyment  to  the  breezy 
talk  of  the  girl,  whose  brown  eyes  seemed  to  have 
caught  the  light  of  the  sea.  "  How  the  sea  atmos 
phere  has  taken  hold  of  her  nature  in  a  year,"  he 


44  MARY  CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

said  mentally,  "  and  how  refreshing  after  so  many 
conventional  girls  !"  Mr.  Loring  was  no  longer  very 
young. 

Soon  Rob  Weston  was  listening,  too,  to  Mist. 
Kendall's  chagrin.  Then  the  conversation  grew  gen 
eral,  and  Mary  found  to  her  disappointment  that 
they  had  engaged  Captain  McKown  from  Mouse 
Island  to  cruise  around  with  them  in  his  catboat  that 
afternoon  to  see  the  local  yacht  race. 

"  Do  come  with  us,"  urged  Mrs.  Sargent. 

"We  should  be  so  glad  to  have  you,"  chimed  in 
Miss  Kendall  witli  cool  civility. 

Mary  wanted  to  go,  but  with  feminine  unreason  said, 
"  No,  I  have  too  much  to  do." 

They  hurried  through  with  the  fish-chowder  dinner 
—  over  which  Mary  had  taken  pathetic  pains  —  and 
went  outdoors  again,  the  ladies  with  Rob  to  watch  the 
beginning  of  the  races,  the  owners  to  continue  their 
dinner  discussion  of  plans  for  a  clubhouse.  Mr. 
Sargent,  who  had  built  many  houses,  had  rapidly 
sketched  a  plan. 

"  Sakes  alive!"  exclaimed  Aunt  Hetty,  watching 
them  from  the  kitchen  window  as  they  walked  out  to 
the  knoll  to  the  westward,  "  they  '11  never  put  up  a 


OF  FISHERMAN  \S  ISLAND.  45 

clubhouse  out  here.  Those  lawyer  folks  is  always 
talkin',  talkin'." 

"I  am  sorry  you  won't  change  your  mind  and  come 
with  us,"  said  Mrs.  Sargent,  as  she  and  Mr.  Loring 
bade  Mai'y  good-by  before  starting  for  the  boat. 
"  We  must  send  some  books  to  that  girl,  John,"  she 
added  later  ;  "  she  has  a  good  mind,  I  know,  and  it 
needs  better  food." 

Rob  Weston  walked  down  to  the  wharf  with  Miss 
Kendall.  There  was  a  careless  ease  about  his  tall 
figure  in  its  brown  golf  suit,  an  indefinable  rhythm 
about  the  girl,  which  made  them  seem  well  adapted  to 
one  another,  to  Mary's  wistful  eyes.  When  the  party 
was  fairly  off  she  was  furious  with  herself  for  not 
having  gone.  But  her  pride  rankled  yet  because  Rob 
Weston  had  not  urged  her  going ;  why,  he  himself 
hardly  knew. 

Toward  sunset  the  Mouse  Island  boat  headed  for 
the  island  to  leave  Judge  Weston,  Rob,  and  Jack. 
It  had  been  a  sultry  afternoon,  long  and  lonely  to 
Mary,  who  had  alternately  helped  Aunt  Hetty  and 
watched  the  races  through  the  marine  glasses,  keep 
ing  the  catboat  in  sight.  As  the  boat  approached, 
Captain  Cameron  said,  "  We  'd  better  go  over  to  the 


46  MAR  Y  CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

wharf  an'  bid  the  folks  good-by  again."  Father  and 
daughter  were  out  on  the  porch. 

"No,  I'm  not  going.  I  hate  that  Miss  Kendall," 
said  Mary,  bitterly. 

"  Why,  Mary  !  what  nonsense  you  're  talkin'."  There 
was  mild  astonishment  in  Captain  Cameron's  voice. 

"  I  don't  care  ;  she  makes  fun  of  me.  I  can  feel 
it,"  said  the  girl.  And  Captain  Cameron  humored 
her ;  he  did  not  always  understand  Mary. 

Rob  Weston,  with  Jack,  reached  the  house  ahead  of 
Judge  Weston  and  Captain  Cameron.  "  Sorry  you 
did  n't  go  with  us,  Miss  Mary,"  said  Rob.  "  It 
was  n't  exactly  rough,  but  there  was  a  heavy  swell  on, 
and  the  ladies  did  n't  sail  very  well.  I  suppose  you 
are  a  good  sailor." 

"  The  rougher  it  is  and  the  bigger  the  swell,  the 
better  Mary  likes  it,"  put  in  Jack  loyally.  "It's 
some  fun  to  take  her  sailing.  Say,  Mary,  we  're 
going  to  have  a  rousing  driftwood  fire  down  here  on 
the  rocks  after  supper." 

"Yes,  Miss  Mary,"  Rob  interrupted,  "Jack  says 
there  is  plenty  of  wood  out  on  that  rocky  beach  back 
of  the  house.  I  am  glad  I  gave  up  that  dance  at  the 
Squirrel  Inn  this  evening." 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  47 

How  the  hungry  men  enjoyed  the  hot  steamed-clam 
supper  which  Mary  served  with  such  a  suddenly 
brightened  face  !  The  Sargeuts,  with  Miss  Kendall, 
were  making  Squirrel  Island  their  headquarters. 

"Oh,  hang  the  supper  dishes!  Just  leave  them," 
said  Rob  in  answer  to  Mary's  protest  against  starting 
the  fire  at  once. 

"All  right,"  said  Mary,  catching  his  impatient  mood. 
"  Maybe  Aunt  Hetty  '11  come  over  and  do  them." 

Mary  slipped  away  to  change  the  blue  flannel  dress 
skirt  and  white  shirt  waist  in  which  she  had  looked  so 
well  that  day,  for  the  old  brown  blouse  and  a  short 
brown  skirt  —  infinitely  more  artistic  to  Rob  Weston's 
observant  eye.  From  the  beach  to  the  spot  chosen 
for  the  fire  was  a  three  minute  walk,  and  Mary  per 
sisted  in  carrying  her  share  of  the  wood. 

"  There  must  be  terrific  winds  to  drive  this  beach 
back  so  far,"  commented  Rob,  corning  across  a  ridge 
of  wave-worn  pebbles  in  the  grass.  "Is  n't  living  on 
this  island  dangerous  in  rough  weather  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  when  it  blows  hard  we  have  to  put  a  lee- 
board  down  to  keep  the  island  from  drifting  away," 
retorted  Mary  gaily.  "Even  Monhegan  Island  sways 
in  a  gale." 


48  MARY  CAMEEON:   A   ROMANCE 

A  feeling  of  good  comradeship  was  springing  up 
between  them.  "  Don't  take  that  great  log  alone," 
she  exclaimed.  "  I  '11  help  carry  it." 

"The  Tempest"  and  Miranda  flashed  into  Rob's 
mind.  "  So  you' 11  help  me  bear  the  log  awhile,"  he 
said,  his  dark  blue  eyes  sending  a  keen  glance  at  her. 
This  was  growing  interesting. 

But  the  allusion  was  lost  on  Mary.  Together  they 
carried  the  heavy  log  to  the  rocks  down  on  the  shore, 
a  hundred  yards  from  the  house.  Jack  was  fetching 
and  carrying  with  the  utmost  willingness,  the  spell  of 
Rob's  personality  upon  him,  for  Robert  Western  had 
the  dominating  power  which  results  from  a  cold  nature 
and  an  intuition  bordering  on  the  feminine. 

"  Now  we  '11  have  a  scientific  fire,"  said  Rob, 
arranging  corner  logs  and  cross  sticks  over  a  pile  of 
shavings,  with  layers  of  broken  spar,  bones  of  ships, 
and  general  wreckage. 

The  flames  burst  out  gloriously.  In  a  trice  the  lire 
was  crackling  and  blazing,  with  the  sound  and  color 
which  only  a  driftwood  fire  can  show,  in  its  apparent 
struggle  to  give  forth  again  the  awful  energies,  the 
lurid  pictures,  which  the  mute  wood  has  witnessed. 

The    sea  was  bumping  at  regular  intervals  on    the 


OF  FISHEBMAN'S  ISLAND.  49 

rocks  below.  "That  rote  means  a  storm  comin* 
within  the  next  three  days,"  said  Captain  Cameron. 
Wrapped  in  a  coat,  he  sat  leaning  against  the  rocks, 
toasting  his  feet,  for  August  nights,  even  after  warm 
days,  tire  cool  on  the  Maine  coast.  Judge  Weston, 
growing  rheumatic  with  advancing  years,  dared  not 
risk  exposure  in  the  evening  air. 

After  his  exertion  Rob  stretched  himself  on  a 
shelving  rock.  Mary,  aglow  with  excitement,  —  a 
witching  vision  in  the  firelight,  —  flitted  about,  now 
prodding  the  fire  with  a  long  pole,  now  darting  off 
into  the  darkness  to  reappear  with  long  festoons  of 
dry  seaweed,  which  crackled  and  snapped  in  the 
flames.  "  1  wish  I  were  a  savage,"  she  exclaimed  on 
one  of  her  returns,  "  then  I  could  live  out  of  doors. 
I  'd  like  to  go  off  hunting  up  to  Moosehead  Lake  or 
off  on  a  whaling  voyage  sometime.  I  don't  see  why 
girls  should  n't  go,  just  as  well  as  men.  Jack,  you 
must  take  me." 

"It's  just  as  you  say,  Mary,"  answered  Jack.  He 
always  kept  up  with  Mary. 

"If  I'd  been  a  savage  I  should  have  been  a  fire 
worshipper."  Mary  suddenly  whisked  back  as  the 
fantastic  tongues  of  flame,  many  colored,  leaped  high 


50  MART   CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

toward  her.  "Come  on,  Jack,  let's  have  a  fire 
dance."  And  she  seized  the  astonished  youth,  drag 
ging  him  breathless  in  a  sudden  mad  whirl  three  times 
around  the  fire. 

"  Mary  !  Mary  !  "  called  her  father,  amazed. 

"  Mary  Cameron  !  ain't  you  ashamed  to  be  carryiu' 
on  so !  "  Aunt  Hetty's  voice  seemed  to  come  out  of 
the  darkness,  made  more  intense  by  the  bright  fire 
light.  "I  declare,  how  you  do  act!"  she  said. 
Mary,  suddenly  subdued,  sank  down  on  the  bank  near 
her  father.  "  Here  you  went  gallivantin'  off  an'  left 
your  supper  dishes,  an'  I  've  just  this  minute  finished 
'em  for  you,  an'  now  you  're  out  here,  actin'  like  the 
witch  of  Endor." 

Fortunately  for  Mary,  another  arrival  turned  the 
attention  from  her  —  save  that  Rob  was  thinking  to 
himself,  "  What  did  that  old  woman  come  and  stop 
her  for?" 

The  dip  of  oars  drew  nearer,  then  ceased.  "It's 
Sam  Merrill."  called  back  Jack.  He  had  run  down 
to  the  water's  edge,  and  soon  returned  with  the  light 
house  keeper  from  Ram  Island,  who  scrambled  readily 
over  the  rocks  with  his  wooden  leg. 

"  He  is  spryer  than  any  two  men,"  was  commonly 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  51 

said  of  "  Sam,"  as  everybody  called  him.  He  had 
lost  his  leg  in  the  lighthouse  service  on  Seguin  Island 
and  had  later  been  given  charge  of  Ram  Island,  a 
fourth-class  light,  requiring  less  care. 

"  I  see  your  fire  a-goin'  an'  could  n't  stay  home," 
said  Sam,  "  so  I  told  my  woman  I  'd  got  to  get  over 
an'  see  Cap'n  Cameron  'bout  some  lobster  pots.  I 
know  it  did  n't  fool  her  one  mite,  but  I  had  to  have 
some  excuse,  an'  she  's  aliens  good-natured,  after  all. 
Glad  to  meet  you,  sir,  glad  to  meet  you  ;  kindly  hope 
you  're  well,"  he  said,  when  he  was  introduced  to  Rob. 
Then  he  talked  a  few  moments  with  Captain  Cameron 
about  the  lobster  pots  to  satisfy  the  New  England 
conscience,  of  which  he  was  in  full  possession. 

"  See  here,  Sam,  won't  you  tell  our  fortunes," 
asked  Mary,  "  if  you  've  got  your  cards  here?  " 

"Stuff  and  nonsense,"  sniffed  Aunt  Hetty.  "  Your 
fortune  '11  come  fast  enough  without  pryin'  into  the 
future." 

But  Sam  was  already  pulling  out  of  his  jacket 
pocket  a  pack  of  well-worn  cards.  "  Got  'em  here, 
sure  enough,"  he  said. 

"Tell  Mr.  Weston's  first."  Mary's  voice  came  out 
of  the  shadows. 


52  MART   CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

"  No,  yours,  Miss  Mary,"  insisted  Rob;  he  wanted 
to  see  her  nearer  in  the  firelight. 

"  Make  your  wish  an'  cut  with  your  left  hand," 
directed  Sara  impressively,  after  he  had  shuffled  the 
cards.  "An'  keep  the  wish  in  your  mind  all  the 
while." 

Mary  came  forward  close  to  the  fire,  near  where 
Sam  had  seated  himself.  She  cut  the  cards  almost 
solemnly.  Sam  had  only  once  before  told  her  fortune, 
and  his  reputation  ran  high. 

Mumbling  some  mysterious  words,  Sam  told  off 
certain  cards.  These  he  spread  out  on  a  flat  rock  and 
began  :  — 

"There  ain't  much  in  this  fortune,  but  what  there  is 
is  queer,  kinder.  Here  's  something  like  a  long  lane 
that  ain't  got  no  turnin'  yet  awhile  ;  I  'spect  that 's 
livin'  on  the  island.  Things  all  goes  one  way,  kinder 
sad  like,  an'  dretful  feelin'.  You  set  your  heart  on 
somethin',  an'  rnebbe  you  get  it  an'  mebbe  you  don't. 
Seems  as  if  eddication  or  book  larnin'  or  somethin' 
stands  in  the  way.  There  's  a  heap  o'  money  comiu', 
an'  presents,  an'  letters." 

"Stuff  and  nonsense,  Sam  Merrill!"  interrupted 
Aunt  Hetty.  "  You  tell  just  the  same  things  to 
everybody." 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  53 

"  Is  that  all?"  asked  Mary. 

"Yes,  'bout  all;  guess  I  ain't  feelin'  like  it  to 
night,"  replied  Sam,  with  a  deprecatory  glance  at 
Aunt  Hetty. 

Rob,  spellbound,  was  watching  Mary.  Her  hair, 
loosened  with  the  dancing,  ha  1  fallen  waving  around 
her  face ;  her  cheeks  were  brilliant,  her  eyes  flashing, 
her  breath  coming  quick  and  fast.  "  I  'd  make  my 
fortune  if  I  could  paint  her  now,"  he  said  to  himself. 
"Isn't  she  going  to  get  married?"  he  asked  with 
sudden  whim. 

"Yes,  oh,  yes,  some  day;  but  the  course  o'  true 
love  ain't  goin'  to  run  very  smooth  with  her,"  Sam 
answered  glibly.  "Now  it 's  your  turn,  Mr.  Weston," 
he  added,  shuffling  the  cards  again. 

"  My!  but  you're  goin'  to  have  adventures,  heaps 
of  'em.  An'  here  's  a  dark  lady  an'  a  light  com 
plected  lady,  an'  things  kinder  mixed  up  together." 
And  Sam  rambled  on,  Mary  listening,  all  attention, 
Rob  indifferently,  till  Sam  said,  "It  'pears  to  me 
you  're  goin'  to  make  a  new  begiunin'." 

"  That  interests  me,"  said  Rob.  "  What  is  it?"  he 
asked,  half  credulously. 

"  Somethin  's  goin'  to  happen    new    an'  different," 


54  MARY  CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

said  Sam,  delighted  to  have  made  a  hit.  "You're 
goin'  somewheres  an'  goin'  to  make  a  heap  o'  money." 

"  More  likely  spend  a  heap,"  said  Rob.  "  You 
were  all  off  in  that  nonsense  about  the  girls  ;  I  've 
never  eared  for  anybody  yet,"-— this  was  for  Mary's 
benefit  —  "  but  it 's  rather  strange  about  the  other,  for 
there  is  a  change  coming  in  my  life.  I  'in  going  to 
Europe  this  fall  to  study  art  for  three  years." 

Mary  rose  so  suddenly  that  some  of  Sam's  cards 
fell  into  the  fire.  One  thought  was  whirling  through 
her  brain  :  Europe  was  as  far  away  as  another  world, 
and  three  years  a  lifetime  ! 

Sam  rescued  what  cards  he  could.  "  I  have  a  pack 
here  which  I  '11  leave  for  you,"  said  Rob,  puzzling 
over  Mary's  start. 

"  It's  high  time  we  was  goin'  into  the  house,  Mary, 
an'  endiu'  this  nonsense,"  put  in  Aunt  Hetty.  "  1  for 
one  can't  stay  out  any  longer,  an'  it  ain't  proper  for 
you  to,"  she  added  bluntly.  Her  instinct  was  as  quick 
as  her  tongue.  Captain  Cameron  had  left  when  the 
fortune-telling  began.  He  was  liberal  as  regards 
others  but  inexorable  with  himself,  and  cards  had 
helped  make  havoc  with  his  early  life. 

''Good   night,"  said   Sam,  hurrying    off.     He    was 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  55 

afraid  of  Aunt  Hetty  and  wanted  to  go  before  he  was 
sent.  Jack  went  to  help  him  start ;  they  were  firm 
friends  for  many  a  good  turn  done  one  another. 

"I'm  waitin'  for  you,  Mary,"  said  Aunt  Hetty, 
pointedly.  Mary  had  seized  an  old  fish  pole  and  was 
absently  poking  the  fire,  fast  dying  now.  "That 
fire  's  all  right  to  leave." 

"  We  will  come  right  along,"  said  Rob,  but  Aunt 
Hetty  seated  herself  grimly  to  wait.  Rob  spread  the 
ashes  over  the  glowing  embers,  trying  to  get  a  word 
with  Mary  meanwhile.  But  not  a  word  would  she 
speak,  until,  dropping  the  pole,  she  turned  to  Aunt 
Hetty.  "I'm  ready  now."  And  she  walked  in 
silence  to  the  house,  Rob  close  behind  her. 

From  the  quaint  parlor,  where  he  stopped  for  a  bed 
time  smoke  with  his  uncle,  Rob  Weston  heard  Captain 
Cameron's  voice  in  the  kitchen  and  guessed  what  was 
going  on. 

Captain  Cameron  noticed  that  Mary  did  not  respond 
to  the  prayers  that  night. 

The  lights  were  soon  out  in  the  little  house.  Out 
side,  Seguin,  Ram  Island,  and  Burnt  Island  lights  made 
long  reflections  across  the  water,  and  the  crescent  moon 
glimmered  through  a  bank  of  low  clouds  in  the  west. 


56  MARY  CAMERON:    A   ROMANCE 


CHAPTER   VI. 

"  What  then  meant  that  summer's  day 
Silence  spent  in  one  long  gaze?" 

—  Robert  Browning. 

YOU  'D  better  have  breakfast  with  us ;  it  will 
bring  the  roses  back  to  your  cheeks,"  said 
Judge  Weston,  with  kindly  insistence,  the  next  morn 
ing  ;  for  Mary,  after  pouring  the  coffee,  rose  from  the 
table  saying,  "  Father  and  I  had  breakfast  an  hour 
ago." 

Her  face  had  color  enough  in  a  moment.  "Thank 
you,  I  can't  stay  ;  I  have  some  work  to  do."  And  she 
vanished  into  the  kitchen. 

But  Rob  did  not  intend  her  to  be  let  alone.  He 
hurriedly  ate  his  breakfast  and  followed  her. 

"  Miss  Mary,  will  you  put  on  that  brown  blouse, 
and  let  me  sketch  you  out  by  those  big  rocks  behind 
the  house?"  He  leaned  against  the  door  near  the 
table,  where  Mary  was  filling  lamps.  The  turned-back 
sleeves  of  her  blue  shirt  waist  showed  her  firm,  white 
arms.  As  she  was  about  to  use  her  scissors  he  took 
them,  obliging  her  to  look  at  him.  Then  he  bent  his 


OF  FISHEBMAN'S  ISLAND.  57 

pleading  eyes  upon  her.  "  Possibly  your  picture  will 
lielp  make  my  fortune  iu  Paris." 

Both  her  vanity  and  her  sympathy  were  touched, 
and  Rob  was  triumphant  over  the  hesitating  "  Yes." 
"Come  now,"  he  begged,  "the  light  is  just  right." 

Disregarding  Aunt  Hetty's  probable  comment,  Mary, 
with  sudden  elation  of  spirits,  ran  upstairs  to  change 
her  dress. 

A  sleepless  night  had  left  her  with  a  pallor  which 
gave  deepened  delicacy  to  her  face.  "Jove!  she'd 
be  tremendous  if  you  once  got  her  well  roused," 
thought  Rob. 

He  seated  his  model  against  the  gray-brown  rocks, 
with  their  brilliant  background  of  blue  sky, — Mary 
first  examining,  with  childlike  curiosity,  his  paint 
box,  palette,  and  tubes  of  color,  —  and  stationing  him 
self  at  due  distance,  began  his  work. 

Stiff  and  conscious  at  the  outset,  she  spoiled  his 
expectation.  But  gradually  the  tension  wore  off,  her 
figure  relaxed,  and  seeing  him  steadily  at  work  —  he 
was  only  putting  in  details,  the  yellow-green  grass,  the 
gray  lichened  rock  —  she  lost  herself  in  a  popular 
novel  he  had  given  her ;  after  awhile  the  book  dropped 
from  her  hand,  and  she  looked  out  over  the  sea  with 


58  MARY  CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

just  the  expression  of  strained  wistfulness  he  had 
hoped  to  catch.  Occasionally  her  eyes  met  his,  and 
met  an  absorbed  look  —  the  man  was  lost  in  the  artist. 

The  sitting  lasted  almost  three  hours.  In  her 
abandonment  Mary  forgot  the  cramped  position,  the 
physical  discomfort.  Suddenly  Aunt  Hetty's  voice 
broke  the  stillness. 

"  Mary,  I  sh'd  think  't  was  time  you  was  gettin' 
dinner!  Here  it  is  after  'leven  o'clock,  an'  your 
father's  brought  in  a  cod  he  's  just  caught.  I  've  biled 
some  lobsters  for  you  ;  I  s'posed  you  'd  forget  to." 

"  Confound  the  woman  !  "  muttered  Rob  under  his 
breath.  Mary  swayed  insecurely  when  she  rose. 
"I'm  afraid  it  has  tired  you,  Miss  Mary!"  he  ex 
claimed  contritely.  "  I  can  work  now  without  you, 
and  perhaps  you  '11  sit  again  some  time  ;  I  '11  be  putting 
in  the  color  of  your  dress."  And  he  dipped  a  fresh 
brush  in  the  burnt  umber  on  his  palette. 

Mary  gave  a  hurried  glance  at  the  canvas  in  pass 
ing.  "Do  I  look  like  that?"  she  asked  herself,  color 
ing  with  pleasure  as  she  walked  away. 

An  intense  excitement  dominated  her.  She  wanted 
to  grasp  the  moments.  It  did  not  seem  to  be  herself 
who  was  moving,  thinking,  speaking.  She  could  not 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  59 

have  explained  it,  —  a  young  girl  does  not  analyze 
emotion  ;  she  simply  feels  it. 

At  dinner  the  talk  turned  on  Rob's  going  to 
Europe. 

"  I  wish  he  had  taken  something  besides  painting 
pictures  for  his  life  work,"  said  Judge  Weston  ;  "  but 
it 's  been  in  him  all  his  life,  and  I  want  him  to  do  the 
best  he  can.  A  man's  work  must  be  more  than  a 
pastime.  Yet  even  talent  is  mediocrity  in  Paris, 
where  hundreds  of  artists  are  trying  to  express  the 
inexpressible,  and  to  grasp  the  unattainable.  But  the 
experience  will  show  what  stuff  there  is  in  him,  at  all 
events." 

"  Paris  ain't  the  place  I  sh'd  chose  for  a  young 
man."  Captain  Cameron  knew  whereof  he  spoke. 
"  There  's  always  two  sides  to  a  question  though,  an' 
your  nephew  's  a  grown  man  now.  He  '11  probably 
come  out  all  right.  I  'spect  the  worst  thing  it  '11  do 
will  be  to  knock  the  religion  out  of  him." 

"  Jack  says  I  can  take  the  Kady  to  sail  over  to  Inner 
Heron  Island  this  afternoon,"  Rob  announced,  to 
change  the  subject.  "  Will  you  come  with  me,  Miss 
Mary  ?  I  have  to  call  on  an  old  friend  who  's  staying 
at  the  Madockawanda  House." 


60  MARY  CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

"  Yes,  I  'd  like  to  go."  Mary's  answer  came  in  a 
low  voice. 

Captain  Cameron  looked  up.  "  I  s'pose  you  know 
all  about  boats,"  he  said  ;  "  there  ain't  much  wind, 
though,  an'  like  's  not  you  '11  get  beca'med  comiu'  back. 
Do  you  think  you  'd  better  go,  Mary  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  dear  daddy,  please !  "  said  Mary,  with  a 
beseeching  look.  Captain  Cameron  made  no  further 
protest. 

Before  the  two  started  Judge  Weston  took  Rob 
aside.  '•  Be  careful,  Rob  "  ;  his  tone  was  significant. 
"  I  think  too  much  of  Mary  Cameron  to  have  you 
trifle  with  her." 

The  Kady's  sail  caught  the  wind  as  soon  as  she  was 
out  from  the  lee  of  the  laud.  Jack,  watching  the  boat 
from  the  hilltop,  repented  bitterly  having  offered  her 
to  Rob.  Rob  had  not  once  suggested  his  going,  too. 

As  they  passed  out  north  of  Fisherman's  Island,  lazy 
seals,  sunning  themselves,  slipped  off  from  the  rocks 
into  the  water,  barking  like  young  dogs.  Over  the 
sparkling  sea  white  gulls  were  flying  in  low  circles, 
and  above  the  surface,  schools  of  young  mackerel 
flecked  their  shining  sides.  Past  the  Ocean  Point 
shores  on  the  west,  and  across  Liunekin's  Bav, 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  61 

the  southwest  wind  sped  them  rapidly,  and  the 
Kady  cut  through  the  water  "  with  a  bone  in  her 
teeth." 

"  I  'in  going  to  whistle  for  more  wind,"  exclaimed 
Mary.  She  was  standing  against  the  mast,  her  hat 
off,  her  hair  tossed  by  the  wind.  "  I  notice  breezes 
come  better  for  lively  tunes  than  they  do  for  hymns," 
and  she  whistled  "  Nancy  Lee  "  in  a  way  which  Rob 
found  bewitching. 

Easily  moved,  impressionable,  Robert  Weston  had 
always  followed  his  impulses  hither  and  thither,  save  that 
he  held  unswervingly  to  his  art.  School  and  college 
had  given  him  only  such  teaching  as  he  chose  to  take. 
His  nature  was  so  ingenuous,  so  magnetic,  that  people 
unconsciously  bent  to  him.  The  one  strong  affection 
of  his  life  was  for  his  uncle,  whose  bounty  had  been 
unlimited.  Their  common  feeling  of  loyal  apprecia 
tion  for  Judge  Weston  formed  a  definite  bond  between 
Rob  and  Mary,  affording  a  background  of  interest. 

Mary  stopped  whistling,  her  thought  going  back  to 
what  Judge  Weston  had  said  about  being  like  other 
girls. 

"  What  do  men  like  best  in  a  girl?  "  came  the  unex 
pected  question,  as  she  sat  down  and  put  on  the  brown 


62  MARY   CAMERON:   A    ROMANCE 

tarn   o'    shanter    cap.     The    expression    in    her    eyes 
baffled  Rob. 

"  Sympathy,"  he  answered  after  a  moment.  Then 
he  returned  the  question. 

"  "What  does  a  girl  like  best  in  a  man?" 

She  colored  close  up  to  the  waving  hair.     "  Oh  — 
she  likes  to  be  cared  for,  I  suppose/'  she  stammered. 

"Yes,  that's  just  it,"  Rob  went  on;  he  was  at 
home  in  Jin  de  siecle  discussion.  "  A  girl's  heart  is 
moved  by  little  things  thai  never  affect  us.  Now  I 
like  a  girl  who  is  sympathetic,  so  that  you  can  always 
count  on  it,  and  yet  who  is  different  at  times,  — like  the 
ocean,  you  know,  always  the  same  underneath,  with  a 
lot  of  variety  on  the  surface." 

Mary's  heart  sank.  Sympathy  she  could  feel,  even 
if  she  could  not  express  it,  but  variety  —  she  could 
only  be  herself. 

They  were  close  to  Inner  Heron  Island  now,  for  the 
two  mile  run  had  taken  hardly  half  an  hour.  Rob 
made  the  landing  and  moored  the  boat,  leaving  the 
sail  set  to  shade  Mary.  "  I'll  be  gone  only  a  few 
minutes,"  he  said  as  he  went  up  the  wharf  steps. 

Mary,  deep  in  thought,  was  drawing  her  hands  back 
and  forth  through  the  water  when  Rob  returned. 


OF  FISHEBMAN'X  ISLAND.  63 

He  scowled  at  two  young  fellows  who  were  staring 
down  from  the  wharf  at  Mary,  unbeknown  to  her,  and 
hurried  the  boat  off. 

Even  in  the  short  time  since  Rob  landed,  the  wind 
had  died  away  perceptibly.  They  drifted  out,  scarcely 
making  headway  at  first.  The  sky  was  a  luminous, 
uurufiled  blue  and  the  sea  a  succession  of  long,  lazy 
swells. 

Rob  talked  a  little  about  Paris.  The  old  lady  friend 
had  been  giving  him  motherly  advice.  "  I  think  I 
shall  be  happy  with  three  whole  years  for  my  art," 
he  said  ;  "  but  after  all,  the  wrench  of  going  away 
makes  me  wonder  if  I  could  n't  do  just  as  well  at 
home.  Still,  a  man  has  to  keep  up  with  the  proces 
sion  these  days,  or  else  fall  out." 

"I  wish  I  had  lived  a  hundred  years  ago;"  Mary 
spoke  impetuously.  •'  Men  and  women  were  truer 
and  better  then.  I  don't  like  the  books  that  are 
written  now  ;  they  don't  seem  real." 

"  The  trouble  is  they  are  too  real,"  said  Rob. 

"  Perhaps,"  Mary  replied,  "  but  I  don't  understand 
them.  I  love  to  take  life  hard,  don't  you,  and  not 
have  it  just  make  believe?  I  'd  rather  feel  things,  and 
have  them  almost  kill  me.  It 's  a  satisfaction ;  you 


64  MARY   CAMEROX:   A    ROMANCE 

can  hug  it  to  you."  She  drew  her  arms  close  to 
herself. 

Rob  did  not  answer.  Speech  began  to  seem  need 
less  this  golden  afternoon.  He  shifted  the  sail  and 
headed  the  Kady  out  to  sea  on  a  long  tack,  to  get  the 
good  of  the  wind.  The  air  was  heavy  with  soft 
fragrance  ;  the  waves,  lapping  against  the  boat,  made 
faint  music.  The  light  glowed  in  a  shining  haze  as 
the  sun  sank  lower,  and  the  water  gleamed  exquisitely 
iridescent. 

When  the  Kady  at  last  drifted  out  opposite  Fisher 
man's,  Rob  turned  her  prow  westward. 

"It's  almost  six  o'clock!  "  he  exclaimed,  glancing 
at  his  watch. 

The  sun  had  told  the  time  to  Mary,  but  when  Rob 
said,  "  We  shall  get  back  sooner  if  I  row,''  she  an 
swered,  "  The  tide  will  take  us  soon  enough." 

Straight  before  them  now  lay  the  pathway  of  gold. 
As  they  sailed  toward  the  sunset,  the  level  rays  of 
reddening  light  fell  full  on  the  girl's  face,  touching  it 
into  rare  beauty.  Rob  looked  at  her  half  bewildered. 
Was  it  all  real? 

The  sun  vanished  beneath  red  billows  of  cloud  back 
of  Southport.  Above  these  clouds  the  sky  color 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  65 

incited  from  soft  green  into  delicate  deepening  blue. 
The  half-moon,  warm  and  red,  hung  in  midheaven, 
and  the  evening  star  looked  out,  red-warm,  too. 

"I  don't  believe  Mars  is  inhabited,  do  you?" 
Mary's  voice  had  a  far-away  sound.  "The  Bible 
does  n't  say  so." 

"  But  it  does  n't  say,  either,  that  there  are  n't  other 
worlds  as  well  as  this,"  answered  Rob.  It  seemed 
natural  enough  to  be  talking  about  such  things  with 
this  girl. 

"  Why  should  n't  there  be  a  Bible  for  this  world, 
and  another  for  some  other  world?"  Mary  went  on, 
musingly.  "  If  God  can  do  everything,  there  need  n't 
be  any  limit  to  worlds  and  peoples.  But  just  think  of 
the  millions  of  stars  !  It  is  like  a  great  weight  over 
head." 

Rob  moved  nearer  her,  as  if  protectingly  ;  and  he 
saw  a  look  in  her  eyes  that  responded  to  something 
rising  in  his  own  heart.  He  was  fast  forgetting 
Europe,  his  plans,  his  uncle,  everything  save  the 
witchery  of  time  and  place. 

"  Before  you  go,  I  want  to  ask  you  something,"  she 
said,  with  clear,  shining  eyes. 

"  Ask  me  now." 


66  MARY  CAMERON:   A  ROMANCE 

"  No,  not  now." 

"Why  not?" 

"Oh,  I  can't  yet,"  she  answered,  looking  away. 

Rob  Wt-ston  prided  himself  on  his  worldly  readiness, 
but  here  he  was  strangely  at  a  loss.  This  girl  was 
both  fire  and  ice,  now  so  near,  then  in  a  moment  as 
far  away  as  the  stars. 

They  were  approaching  the  Fisherman's  shores,  all 
too  soon,  Rob  thought.  Monhegan  and  Pemaquid 
lights  shone  in  the  distance,  the  fog-bell  on  the  Hypo 
crites  sounded  faintly.  Ahead,  the  red  light  streamed 
out  from  Ram  Island,  as  Rob  turned  the  Kady  into 
the  narrow  channel  between  the  two  islands. 

"I'll  take  the  sail  down,"  he  said,  as  it  began  to 
flap  under  the  lee  of  Fisherman's.  He  gave  the 
rudder  over  to  her.  "  They  '11  know  we  are  coming," 
he  added,  as  the  sail  creaked  along  the  mast. 

"  How  late  is  it?  "  inquired  Mary. 

"  About  eight  o'clock.  Will  your  aunt  mind?  "  he 
asked,  coming  aft. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mary  with  a  sigh. 

"  I 'm  awfully  sorry."  He  was  close  to  her.  Her 
shapely  brown  hands,  not  beautiful,  but  homelike, 
were  on  the  rudder,  and  he  put  his  own  upon  them. 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  t>7 

After  a  brief,  bewildering  moment,  she  quickly 
thrust  her  hands  behind  her,  and  moved  away  in  a 
tumult  of  new  feelings,  saying  passionately,  "  You 
have  no  right  to  do  that." 

"  I  could  n't  helj)  it,"  he  said  in  a  low  tone,  spring 
ing  to  save  the  Kady  from  scraping  against  the  wharf. 

In  a  moment  .luck  appeared,  followed  by  his  mother. 
Once  landed,  escaping  from  Aunt  Hetty's  sharp  com 
ments,  Mary  hurried  toward  the  house.  Rob  overtook 
her. 

"Tell  me  now  what  you  wanted  to  ask  me,"  he 
begged. 

"  No,  don't  ask  me  now  !  " 

"  Will  yon  before  I  go?  " 

"Yes;  to-morrow."  She  ran  away  from  him  into 
the  house,  and  kept  close  to  her  father  the  rest  of  the 
evening.  He  and  Judge  Weston  were  talking  over 
old  school  days. 

The  next  morning  a  heavy  gray  fog  shrouded  every 
thing  ;  lifting  fitfully  at  intervals,  it  showed  an  angry, 
tossing  sea,  then  the  curtain  shut  the  island  again  into 
a  silent  wilderness,  save  when  the  fog-signal  sounded 
from  the  Cuckcolds,  or  the  bell-buoy  on  the  Hypocrites 
broke  the  stillness. 


68  MARY  CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

"  If  you  've  got  to  go,  Judge,"  said  Captain  Cam 
eron  at  breakfast,  "  we  must  be  off  right  away,  for  we  '11 
have  to  feel  our  way  over  to  the  main  ;  Jack's  got  his 
boat  all  ready." 

"  Why  not  stay  another  day?"  suggested  Rob. 

"  No,  I  must  be  off."  Judge  Weston's  tone  was 
decided ;  the  dampness  had  given  him  a  twinge  of 
rheumatism.  "  Besides,  we're  likely  to  have  a  spell 
of  weather  out  of  this,  Captain  Cameron  says." 

"  Yes,  when  the  sun  comes  up  double,  same  's  it 
did  yesterday,  look  out  for  weather,"  explained  Cap 
tain  Cameron.  "  Sorry  to  have  you  go,  but  the  wind 
has  hauled  'round  to  the  uor'east,  an'  we  're  in  for  a 
storm." 

"  Come  into  the  other  room  a  moment,"  Rob  said  to 
Mary,  as  they  all  rose  from  the  table  ;  and  she  fol 
lowed  him. 

There  was  something  pathetic  in  the  droop  of  her 
figure,  as  she  stood  by  the  table  in  her  "  speak-a- 
bit"  corner,  and  it  roused  his  manhood;  he  felt  a 
momentary  mad  desire  to  take  her  in  his  arms.  But 
the  flush  of  the  evening  had  gone  :  it  was  cold  day 
light  now.  His  manner  stiffened,  though  his  eyes 
kindled. 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  69 

u  What  did  you  want  to  ask  me  ?  "  His  tone  was 
very  gentle. 

She  waited  a  moment  to  gain  control  of  her  voice. 
"  Have  you  —  have  you  ever  been  confirmed  ?  " 

"  What !  "  The  amazement  in  his  voice  was  unmis 
takable. 

"Have  you  ever  been  confirmed,  in  the  church?" 
She  repeated  the  question,  her  voice  still  lower. 

"  Oh,  yes,  years  ago.  But  I  don't  make  much  of 
those  things.  Why  do  you  ask  me?  "  How  the  light 
tone  hurt  her  ! 

"  Oh,  never  mind,"  came  the  embarrassed  reply,  as 
she  turned  away. 

"Rob!  Rob!  hurry  up!"  Judge  Weston  called 
peremptorily. 

"  Just  a  minute,  Uncle  Levi,"  Rob  answered  im 
patiently.  Mary  was  going  toward  the  door.  He 
stopped  her  in  front  of  the  fireplace.  "  Give  me  those 
flowers,  will  you?  " 

She  took  the  sweet  pease  from  her  belt.  He  seized 
the  trembling  hand  with  the  flowers. 

"  Will  you  write  to  me  while  I  am  away?"  he  asked 
in  an  uncertain  voice. 

"  Yes."     He  could  not  see  her  face. 


70  MARY  CAMERON:  A  ROMANCE 

"Good-by — Mary!  I  shall  never  forget  these 
days  here."  Bending  over,  he  kissed  her  forehead 
and  rushed  from  the  room. 

The  others  were  waiting  outside  the  house.  There 
was  strong  will  in  the  girl.  She  summoned  all  her 
self-control  and  went  down  to  the  beach,  where  Jack 
was  read}'  with  his  dory  to  take  them  aboard  the 
Kady. 

"  Is  the  luggage  all  in?"  asked  Judge  Weston. 

"Aye,  aye,  sir,"  answered  Captain  Cameron, 
"picter  an'  all." 

"  Well,  good-by,  Mrs.  Cameron,"  said  Judge 
Weston,  shaking  hands  with  Aunt  Hetty.  "  Good-by, 
Mary,"  laying  his  hand  affectionately  on  her  shoulder, 
"  we  shall  meet  again  sometime."  His  kind,  keen 
eyes  looked  deep  into  hers. 

Rob  was  the  last  one  to  step  into  the  boat. 
"  Good-by,  once  more,"  he  said  to  Mary. 

A  moment  later  the  fog  shut  the  boat  from  sight. 

"What  you  goin'  to  do  now?"  asked  Aunt  Hetty, 
detaining  Mary.  "  I  've  got  to  go  to  cookiu'.  It 's  a 
dretful  nuisance,  this  havin'  folks  come  an'  hinder 
your  work." 

"Pick   some    raspberries,"  Mary  answered  at  ran- 


OF  FISHERMAN1  S  ISLAND.  71 

dorn.  The  thought  of  going  into  the  house  choked 
her. 

'•What,  this  wet  mornin',  an'  leave  all  your  work! 
I  sh'd  think  you  'd  lost  your  senses.  You  look  'bout 
fit  to  go  to  bed."  Aunt  Hetty  gave  the  girl  a  search 
ing  glance.  Mary  turned  and  left  her  ;  she  could  not 
speak  another  word. 

On  she  went,  vanishing  into  the  fog,  past  the  house, 
past  the  great  rocks  looming  ghost-like  where  Rob 
had  painted  her  picture  —  only  yesterday  was  it?  — 
along  the  footpath  to  the  narrow,  rocky  bar.  There 
she  threw  herself  down  on  the  hard  beach,  a  hundred 
fiery  thoughts  darting  through  her  brain  with  intoler 
able  torture.  "  Oh,  if  I  could  only  die!  "  she  gasped, 
tearless,  shivering  sobs  shaking  her  from  head  to  foot. 

Was  this  the  end  of  the  dream  in  which  she  had 
lived  all  the  long  months  since  last  summer?  Rob 
had  asked  her  to  write  to  him,  but  oh,  that  intermin 
able  distance,  those  endless  years  ! 

The  fish  hawks  shrieked  overhead,  the  sea  broke 
angrily  on  the  rocks  below,  and  the  cold  fog  shut  her 
in  closer  to  utter  loneliness. 

She  was  very  young,  scarcely  twenty,  younger  far 
in  many  ways  than  most  girls,  and  all  the  untried 


<-  MARY  CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

tenderness  and  strength  of  her  nature  had  gone  into 
this  dream. 

Only  the  year  before  she  had  been  admitted  into  the 
church,  and  to  her  sensitive  nature,  drawn  by  her 
father's  influence  toward  things  unseen,  this  had  been 
the  very  opening  of  heaven.  Yesterday,  throughout 
that  long  summer  day,  the  thought  of  separation,  and 
a  dread  foreboding  —  never  far  absent  from  those  who 
live  where  men  go  down  to  the  sea  in  ships  —  had 
roused  an  unquenchable  desire  to  know  that  Rob,  too, 
would  be  in  that  high  heaven.  But  when  she  asked 
the"  question,  how  little  he  understood  !  Even  if  she 
had  explained,  would  it  have  meant  any  tiling  to  him? 

Had  she  shown  him  how  much  she  cared  ?  Why  else 
did  he  kiss  her?  Her  pride  rose  to  rebuke  her  and  the 
sense  of  humiliation  made  her  writhe  in  agony,  till  the 
last  reaction  from  the  strain  of  the  past  days  came  in 
clicking  sobs,  which  left  her  weak  and  exhausted. 

The  gulls  whirled  near,  the  great  seas  shivered  and 
broke  at  her  feet.  Splashing  drops  of  rain  roused 
her.  Was  it  late?  She  could  not  tell.  Wet,  chilled, 
wretched,  she  went  slowly  back  to  the  house  to  make 
ready  for  her  father's  home-coming. 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  73 


CHAPTER   VII. 

"  Every  day  brings  a  ship, 
Every  ship  brings  a  word; 
Well  for  those  who  have  no  fear, 
Looking  seaward  well  assured 
That  the  word  the  vessel  brings 
Is  the  word  they  wish  to  hear." 

—  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson. 

B  WESTON,  looking  out  over  gay,  glittering 
-l_ii  Paris,  chewed  the  end  of  his  pen  meditatively 
several  moments  before  beginning  his  first  letter  to 
Mary  Cameron.  The  ocean  voyage  had  brought 
Fisherman's  Island  into  his  foreground  again  ;  it  had 
retreated  somewhat  during  the  weeks  of  preparation. 
The  unfinished  sketch  upon  his  studio  wall  caught 
his  eye.  Paris  and  Fisherman's  Island  !  Could  there 
be  a  greater  contrast?  But  what  to  say  !  "I  can't 
make  love  to  her,"  he  exclaimed,  "  so  I  '11  just  pitch 
in  and  write  as  I  would  to  anybody.  She  's  such  a 
sympathetic  soul,  she  will  understand."  So  he  began 
writing. 

"  NO.  ,  RUE    DE    LA    SORBONNE, 

PAKIS,  October  10,  189-. 

"Dear  3/iss  Mary,  —  Much  as   you    were    in    my 
mind,  I  could  not  write  in  those  hurried  davs  before  I 


74  MART   CAMERON:    A   ROMANCE 

sailed.  Being  on  the  ocean  seemed  almost  to  bring 
you  nearer,  though  each  puff  of  the  steamer  took  me 
farther  away  from  you. 

"  Late  September  is  a  hard  time  at  sea,  and  there 
is  n't  much  more  to  say  about  the  voyage  than  that 
I  met  a  man  from  Bridgewater,  Mass.,  an  art  student, 
bound  for  Paris,  too,  a  quiet,  talented  fellow,  —  good 
ballast  for  me,  —  and  we  have  cast  in  our  lot  together. 
We  reached  Paris  three  days  ago,  hunted  up  a  studio 
the  first  thing,  and  are  now  almost  settled  in  three 
rooms  near  the  Sorbonne,  the  Latin  part  of  Paris, 
where  all  the  students  live.  We  use  the  kitchen  for 
wardrobe  and  storeroom,  take  our  meals  at  a  cafe, 
have  our  beds  in  the  parlor,  and  are  going  to  live, 
generally,  in  the  studio. 

"The  first  day  we  went  to  the  Louvre  and  saw 
hundreds  of  famous  pictures — I  can't  begin  to  tell 
you  about  them  —  and  dozens  of  art  students,  men 
and  women,  young  and  old,  sorry-appearing  objects, 
mostly,  looking  as  though  hunger  and  empty  pockets 
were  near  neighbors.  I  wonder  if  I  shall  come  to 
that!  After  we  had  looked  at  pictures  until  we 
could  n't  take  in  another  one,  we  went  to  Notre  Dame 
Cathedral,  which  at  first  is  disappointing ;  but  it 
grows  on  me  and  makes  me  think  of  Victor  Hugo's 
stories. 

"All  the  Parisian  world  has  come  back  to  town, 
and  it  is  a  gay,  stirring  world.  Sometimes  it  stifles 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  75 

me,  and  toward  night  I  would  give  a  good  deal  to  be 
back  at  home,  drudging  away.  We  have  splendid  big 
windows  in  our  studio  ;  the  sunset  view  now  is  superb. 
You  ought  to  see  it,  —  Eiffel  Tower  with  a  generous 
sprinkling  of  hotel  roofs  in  the  foreground,  to  the 
right  Notre  Dame,  with  St.  Sulpice  and  others  thrown 
in,  and  on  the  left,  the  rest  of  this  side  of  the  Seine, 
—  all  lighted  up  with  a  glorious,  golden  color. 

"  I  expect  to  begin  work  at  the  Julienne  Academy 
next  week.  Meanwhile  I  am  doing  a  sketch  now  and 
then,  and  looking  around.  Already  I  have  met  half 
a  dozen  men  I  know.  I  shall  be  very  much  occupied 
with  work  and  club  matters,  but  that  will  not  prevent 
my  writing  often,  and  wanting  to  hear  from  you. 
Your  letters  will  be  more  than  welcome, — lam  im 
patient  for  the  first  one. 

Ever  most  faithfully, 

ROBERT  WESTON." 

Summer,  and  the  better  part  of  autumn,  too,  was 
now  past.  Mary's  flowers  had  perished  in  the  heavy 
frosts,  and  the  grass  had  faded  to  dull  brown. 
The  shivering  stacks  of  cornstalks,  the  cawing  of 
hungry  crows,  the  shrill  shrieks  of  sea  gulls  gave  an 
atmosphere  of  melancholy  to  Fisherman's  Island. 
All  the  summer  cottages  on  Ocean  Point  and  on  the 
neighboring  islands  were  closed. 


76  MARY   CAMERON:    A   ROMANCE 

The  wild  geese  had  already  wheeled  overhead, 
southward  bound,  and  Jack  one  day  reported  a  white 
Arctic  owl  hovering  around,  —  "signs  of  a  long, 
cold  winter,"  worried  Aunt  Hetty  ;  she  always  went 
more  than  halfway  to  meet  misfortune.  Donald 
Cameron  had  been  at  home  in  September,  and  was 
now  on  his  way  to  South  America.  He  liked  living 
at  home  on  Fisherman's  Island  even  less  than  in 
Boothbay. 

Mary  sat  by  the  dining  room  window,  waiting  for 
her  father,  who  had  just  sailed  into  the  cove.  The 
light  from  the  setting  sun  reflected  pale  yellow  streaks 
in  the  water  near  the  shore ;  the  wind,  whistling, 
rattled  the  windows.  A  year  ago,  despite  the  cold, 
the  girl  would  have  run  down  to  meet  her  father. 

"  Bhrr  !  but  it 's  a  bitter  spell !  "  exclaimed  Captain 
Cameron,  opening  the  kitchen  door.  "•  I  hope  my 
little  housekeeper's  got  somethin'  pipiu'  hot  for  her 
old  daddy's  supper." 

"  Yes,  a  clam  stew,"  said  Mary,  her  face  brighten 
ing  as  she  helped  the  stiff  hands  untie  the  woolen 
comforter. 

"  Here  's  a  letter  for  you,"  —  Captain  Cameron  drew 
a  thin,  rustling  envelope  from  his  pea-jacket  pocket,  — 


OF  FISHERMAN' *V  ISLAND.  77 

"  an'  it's  got  the  first  foreign  stamp  I  've  seen  in  many 
a  year.  I  expect  it's  from  that  Rob  Weston." 

"  Yes."  Mary  felt  an  odd  tightening  in  her  throat. 
She  had  almost  given  up  the  hope  of  hearing  from 
him.  She  looked  eagerly  at  the  letter,  postmarked 
"Paris,  5e  11  Oct.,  '9—."  "I'll  read  it  by  and  by; 
you  must  have  supper  now."  But  she  found  time  to 
read  the  letter  twice  while  her  father  put  his  heavy 
rubber  boots  into  the  shed,  and  brought  the  wood  for 
the  night. 

She  waited  for  him  to  ask  about  the  letter  after 
supper,  but  he  settled  down  by  the  kitchen  fire  to  read 
his  papers,  first  handing  out  to  her  from  the  big  mar 
ket  basket  a  firmly  tied,  plainly  addressed  package. 

"  More  books,  I  do  believe !  Yes,"  said  Mary 
delightedly,  as  she  brought  to  light  a  volume  of 
Shakespeare,  a  copy  of  "  Lorna  Doone,"  and  several 
magazines.  Another  bundle  of  books  had  reached  her 
in  September,  from  Mrs.  Sargent  the  two  families  de 
cided  by  the  Newton,  Mass.,  postmark;  and  though 
the  writing  was  unmistakably  that  of  a  man,  Mary 
had  written  to  thank  Mrs.  Sargent. 

As  she  lingered  late  over  the  books,  the  girl  began 
framing  her  answer  to  Rob  Weston's  letter,  which, 


78  MARY  CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

each  time  she  read  it  anew,  seemed  to  lack  something, 
she  hardly  knew  what. 

With  the  autumn  had  come  an  introspective  with 
drawing  into  herself,  new  to  Mary ;  the  tide  of  self- 
analysis,  sounding  so  persistently  on  the  shores  of  Hie 
closing  century,  reached  even  to  this  remote  island. 
Dazed  and  dejected  at  first,  her  questioning  had  grown 
gradually,  aided  by  Rob  Weston's  silence,  u-ntil  she 
had  come  into  a  half-hearted  determination  to  let  the 
dream  go.  But  it  was  touched  into  reality  again  by 
his  letter,  unsatisfactory  though  this  was. 

She  copied  and  recopied  her  answer  until  every 
spark  of  naturalness  was  worn  away.  Then,  trusting 
no  one  else  to  mail  it,  she  sailed  over  to  the  mainland 
with  her  father  and  posted  it  herself. 

Winter  began  with  November.  "  I  declare  for  it," 
said  Aunt  Hetty,  "seems  as  if  everything  outdoors 
was  dead  set  against  us,  all  the  winds  of  God  an'  all 
the  frost  an'  cold." 

Day  after  day  Captain  Cameron  and  Jack  came 
in  stiff  and  half  frozen  from  hauling  their  lobster 
traps,  —  the  Portland  packet  called  once  a  month  to 
take  all  the  catch  they  had  on  hand. 

Every    morning,   regardless    of   the  weather,   Mary 


OF  FISHERMAN'8  ISLAND.  79 

wrapped  herself  in  an  old  coat  of  her  father's,  tucked 
her  rebellious  hair  under  the  worn  tarn  o'  shanter,  and 
went  to  see  Aunt  Hetty.  Occasionally  the  two  fam 
ilies  talked  of  living  together  in  the  larger  house,  but 
Aunt  Hetty  always  ended  the  discussion  with,  "I'm 
used  to  my  own  ways,  and  't  would  fret  me  to  have 
anybody  else  botherin'  around  the  work ;  besides, 
livin'  apart  gives  us  somewheres  to  go."  On  Sunday 
afternoons  she  and  Jack  came  to  see  Mary  and  stayed 
to  supper  ;  afterwards  they  all  spent  the  evening  in 
k'  the  fore  room,"  as  Aunt  Hetty  called  it,  by  the  drift 
wood  fire,  while  Mary  read  aloud.  There  was  seldom 
a  Sunday  now  when  Captain  Cameron  could  venture 
over  to  church,  and  it  grieved  him  sorely. 

A  second  letter  came  from  Rob  Weston,  two  weeks 
after  the  first  one.  Sam  Merrill  brought  it  early  one 
morning  —  he  had  been  to  Boothbay  the  day  before. 

It  was  a  short,  impetuous  letter,  evidently  written 
under  the  spur  of  strong  feeling.  Rob  complained  of 
the  dreariness  of  Paris,  the  lack  of  comfort  in  his 
way  of  living,  the  loneliness  of  being  among  stran 
gers,  and  he  ended  by  saying  :  — 

"  I  will  tell  you  what  I  have  not  told  any  one  else  — 
that  I  am  almost  sure  of  having  some  illustration  work 


80  MARY   CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

to  do  for  the  Century  Magazine,  which  will  take  me 
home  early  in  the  spring.  Please  do  not  mention  this, 
for  many  reasons." 

A  tumult  of  hope  sprang  up  in  Mary's  heart,  as  the 
long  vista  of  three  years  reduced  itself  to  a  few 
months,  and  she  went  about  her  work  singing  so  joy 
ously  that  her  father,  coming  in  to  look  over  the 
papers  Sam  had  brought,  exclaimed,  "  Why,  bless  my 
heart,  Mary  !  It  does  me  good  to  hear  you  singiu' 
again."  Aunt  Hetty,  too,  noticed  a  change  and  com 
mented  to  herself,  "Girls  nowadays  do  beat  all;  I 
never  saw  anybody  with  so  many  ups  and  downs  as 
Mary." 

That  evening  the  girl  wrote  her  answer,  impulsively, 
without  copying  this  time  ;  of  course  he  did  not  like 
that  wicked,  lonely  Paris,  —  she  hoped  he  would 
surely  come  home,  — she  wished  it  were  even  sooner. 

There  had  been  an  off-shore  wind  for  two  days,  and 
the  sea  was  rolling  into  the  cove  in  great  toppling 
green  waves. 

"  David  Cameron,  I  wish  }TOU  'd  forbid  Jack  goin' 
to  Boothbay !  "  Aunt  Hetty  burst  into  the  kitchen 
the  next  morning,  a  small  shawl  pinned  over  her 
head,  and  a  heavier  shawl  over  her  shoulders.  Breath- 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  81 

less  with  hurry  and  excitement,  she  sank  into  a  chair, 
and  the  head  shawl  slipped  back.  She  was  short  in 
stature,  thin  featured,  with  snapping  brown  eyes ; 
her  iron-gray  hair,  drawn  tightly  back,  was  twisted 
into  a  determined  knot.  "He  says  he's  goin',  an'  I 
say  it  ain't  a  fit  day." 

"  Well,  it  does  look  pretty  squally,"  said  Captain 
Cameron.  "What's  he  goin'  for?  I  mean  to  get 
over  to  the  main  myself,  Saturday."  This  was 
Wednesday. 

"  Says  he  's  got  to  have  some  spruce  knees  for  the 
boat  he's  buildin' ;  but  that's  only  an  excuse,  I  know. 
He  's  possessed  to  start ;  I  never  saw  him  so  set," 
answered  Aunt  Hetty,  rocking  nervously  back  and 
forth. 

Mary  kept  on  with  her  bread-making,  her  back 
turned  to  Aunt  Hetty. 

"  I  can't  forbid  his  goin'  if  he  won't  stay  for  you, 
Mehitable."  There  was  no  mistaking  Captain  Cam 
eron's  tone,  and  when  he  said  "Mehitable"  Aunt 
Hetty  was  always  silenced.  Fastening  her  shawls 
closer,  she  started  homeward,  not  much  comforted  by 
Captain  Cameron's  "  Don't  worry,  Hetty,  Jack  knows 
most  us  nuiuh  about  boats  as  any  man  on  the  coast." 


82  MARY   CAMERON:    A   ROMANCE 

While  the  talk  was  going  on,  Mary's  face  burned 
scarlet.  The  afternoon  before,  she  had  found  Jack 
in  the  boathouse,  praised  his  progress  on  the  new 
boat,  and  inquired  of  him,  in  an  offhand  manner  :  — 

"When  are  you  going  to  Booth  bay  again?  I  have 
an  important  letter  I  want  mailed,  —  but  please  don't 
say  anything  about  it." 

Next  to  his  boats,  Jack  loved  Mary  ;  and  without 
thinking  much  about  the  letter,  replied  :  — 

"I'll  go  in  the  morning;  I  must  go  anyway." 
Mary's  interest  gave  him  new  zeal  for  his  work. 

His  mother's  objections  were  unavailing  ;  he  only 
shut  his  mouth  the  closer,  and  told  himself,  "When 
Jack  Cameron  says  he  '11  do  a  thing,  Jack  Cameron 
will  do  it."  Accordingly,  about  ton  o'clock,  with  Mary's 
letter  in  his  pocket,  he  slid  the  Kady  out  from  her  moor 
ings,  and  double-reefing  the  sail,  started  off  on  a  long 
tack  to  windward.  His  mother's  mind  was  somewhat 
relieved  to  see  Sam  Merrill  set  out,  a  few  moments 
later,  in  the  lighthouse  cutter. 

The  two  boats  were  soon  running  neck  to  neck. 
When  they  had  vanished  around  Ocean  Point,  Aunt 
Hetty  took  her  knitting,  and  went  over  to  Mary's. 
"I'm  that  fidgety  I  can't  stay  alone,"  she  said. 


OF  FISHEBMAN'S  ISLAND.  oo 

After  the  early  dinner,  she  began  looking  for  the 
Kady. 

One  o'clock  struck  from  the  tall,  old-fashioned  time 
keeper  in  the  kitchen  corner.  Its  slow  measuring  of 
the  hours  suited  Fisherman's  Island  ;  Judge  Westou 
had  often  noted  that. 

The  wind  was  coming  heavy  and  squally. 

Two  o'clock  struck. 

"It's  time  he  was  in  sight,"  said  Aunt  Hetty, 
clicking  her  knitting  needles  faster.  From  the  win 
dow  where  she  sat,  she  could  see  ominous  bunches  of 
cloud,  racing  southward. 

The  half  hour  sounded. 

Mary  moved  around  the  kitchen  restlessly. 

"  There  he  is  now  !  "  exclaimed  Aunt  Hetty  with  a 
sigh  of  relief,  reaching  for  the  marine  glasses,  as  a 
sail  came  into  sight  this  side  of  Tumbler  Island. 
"Yes,  it's  the  Kady;  and,  thank  the  Lord,  there's 
Sam  Merrill's  boat  too  !  " 

Mary  was  looking  eagerly  over  Aunt  Hetty's  shoul 
der  ;  she  had  kept  her  growing  anxiety  to  herself.  The 
wind  was  raking  the  sea  roughly,  in  great  gusts. 

Then,  even  then,  while  they  both  looked,  the  Kady 
veered,  went  down,  vanished,  was  blotted  out  before 
their  eyes  ! 


84  MARY  CAMERON:  A  ROMANCE 

Aunt  Hetty's  voice  rang  through  the  house  with  a 
shriek  Mary  never  forgot.  Like  a  flash  the  girl  ran  to 
the  door  and  blew  the  horn  to  call  her  father.  Aunt 
Hetty,  after  that  despairing  cry,  with  dumb  anguish 
buried  her  face  in  her  hands  on  the  table. 

Seizing  the  marine  glasses,  Mary  looked  strainingly 
toward  Ocean  Point.  Each  moment  seemed  an  hour, 
and  one  of  those  hours  that  count  for  years  in  a  life 
time.  She  saw  Sam  Merrill  crowd  on  more  sail,  run 
his  boat  swiftly  to  the  spot  where  the  Kady  went 
down,  and  luff  up  into  the  wind  ;  there  seemed  to  be 
a  struggle,  then  the  lighthouse  boat  righted  and 
headed  homeward. 

Captain  Cameron  heard  the  story.  "Start  up  the 
fire,  Mary,"  he  said,  hurrying  off  to  the  wharf.  Control 
ling  her  own  terror,  Mary  tried  to  comfort  Aunt 
Hetty,  who  did  not  speak,  did  not  even  look  up  when 
the  girl  insisted  that  Jack  might  have  been  saved. 

The  strong  northwest  wind  brought  the  staunch 
cutter,  all  sail  set,  into  the  cove  like  a  flash.  Ocean 
Point  was  only  a  mile  distant. 

"  He  is  saved  !    They  're  bringing  him  !  "  cried  Mary. 

Aunt  Hetty  roused  herself  and  stood  upright,  clutch 
ing  the  table,  her  face  set,  ready  for  the  worst. 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  85 

Slowly  the  two  men  came,  carrying  Jack  —  Jack, 
whose  bounding  step  had  left  the  house  only  a  few 
hours  before. 

"  There  's  life  in  him  yet,"  said  Sam.  They  placed 
the  limp  figure  on  the  old  lounge,  and  began  stripping 
the  clothing  from  the  unconscious  body. 

"Yes,  his  heart  beats";  Captain  Cameron  was 
bending  to  listen. 

It  seemed  that  the  cold  of  the  numbed  body  could 
never  be  overcome.  They  rubbed  until  arms  ached 
and  hope  almost  died.  Not  a  word  passed  Aunt 
Hetty's  lips,  but  she  fought  like  grim  death  for  her 
boy's  life. 

Sam  told  the  story,  a  few  words  at  a  time. 

"You  see,  I  was  runnin'  off  to  the  westward,  an' 
did  n't  get  so  much  of  that  perticular  squall,  but  I  had 
to  handle  the  cutter  lively,  I  tell  you.  Then  I  looked 
out  for  Jack,  an'  there  was  the  peak  of  the  Kady  just 
goin'  under !  I  tell  you,  the  cold  sweat  stood  out  all 
over  me.  I  see  Jack's  head  in  the  water,  an'  I  h'isted 
my  jib  in  a  jiffy,  an'  set  over  to  him.  Then  't  was  nip 
an'  tuck  if  I  could  get  him  in,  but  as  luck  had  it,  the 
wind  held  up  a  bit,  an'  I  luffed  the  cutter  up  into  it, 
brought  her  'round,  watched  my  chance,  an'  made  a 


86  MARY  CAME  EON:   A   ROMANCE 

grab  at  him.  He  was  pretty  nigh  beat  out,  but  he  had 
life  enough  left  to  help  get  himself  in  —  he  'cl  had  holt 
of  one  o'  them  boat  knees  that  drifted  off.  Then  he 
just  collapsed,  went  over  in  a  heap.  I  clapped  my 
coat  over  him,  resked  keepiu'  the  sails  all  set,  an' 
headed  for  home." 

At  last  Jack  stirred,  opened  his  eyes,  shut  them, 
opened  them  again,  and  tried  to  raise  himself,  only  to 
fall  back,  half  swooning,  as  he  asked,  "  Where  am 
I — and  where's  the  Kady?" 

While  Aunt  Hetty  sat  by  her  son,  after  he  had  re 
vived  again  and  fallen  into  a  heavy  sleep,  Sam  finished 
his  story. 

'•  I  know  Jack  must  'a  had  the  sheet  in  his  hand,  he 
would  n't  'a  made  it  fast  in  such  a  wind  ;  but  I  reckon 
it  caught  on  a  block  when  he  let  it  go.  There  's  fifteen 
fathom  of  water  out  there,  an'  the  Kady  must  have 
gone  to  the  bottom  like  a  streak,  'cause  there  waru't  a 
sign  o'  her  when  I  got  there  'cept  a  few  pieces  of  wood 
rtoatin'  'round." 

Immediately  on  waking,  Jack  asked  again,  ' '  Where  's 
the  Kady?  " 

"  She  's  foundered,  Jack  ;  gone  plumb  down."  Sam's 
voice  was  full  of  sympathy. 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  87 

Jack  put  his  hands  over  his  face  and  turned  to  the 
wall.  After  a  while,  to  rouse  him,  Captain  Camei-on 
asked,  "  You  did  n't  have  your  sheet  fast,  did  you?  " 

tk  Of  course  not,  in  that  wind."  Jack  showed  a 
flushed,  indignant  face.  "  I  had  it  free,  but  when  I 
brought  the  rudder  round,  the  sheet  caught  on  some 
thing,  a  block,  I  suppose,  and  the  first  thing  I  knew  I 
was  in  the  water,  and  the  Kady  was  going  down,  — 
yes,  I  remember,  she  went  down  under  my  very 
eyes." 

"  Just  what  I  told  'em  ;  I  knew  you  was  too  good  a 
sailor  to  make  the  mistake  of  fastenin'  your  sheet," 
said  Sam,  soothingly. 

Jack  had  been  in  the  icy  water  over  ten  minutes, 
and  his  system,  young  and  vigorous  as  it  was,  recov 
ered  very  slowly  from  the  shock.  But  though  his 
strength  came  back,  his  energy  did  not.  He  had 
worked  over  the  Kady  until  he  knew  every  board  and 
every  nail  in  her,  and  the  loss  of  the  boat  seemed  to 
sap  his  life.  Day  after  day  he  sat  listlessly  all  the 
morning,  often  all  the  afternoon,  at  Mary's  kitchen 
window,  leaning  back  in  the  old  stuffed  rocking-chair, 
and  looking  out  at  the  spot  where  the  Kady  went 
down  ;  he  could  see  the  place  best  from  here.  His 


88  MARY   CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

blue  eyes  had  a  dull,  preoccupied  look,  be  lost  his 
ruddy  color,  and  his  hands  grew  thin  and  yellow. 

Aunt  Hetty  stayed  alone  at  home.  "I  can't  bear 
to  go  with  Jack,  miserable  as  I  am  away  from  him," 
she  told  Mary  one  day,  with  a  dry  sob  in  her  voice. 

Day  by  day  Mary  grew  more  remorseful.  "Jack 
would  n't  have  gone,  would  n't  have  lost  the  Ka.dy,  if 
I  had  n't  asked  him  to  go,"  she  reproached  herself 
continually.  One  day  he  refused  to  eat  any  dinner  ; 
and  that  afternoon,  Mary,  seeing  him  so  thin  and  wist 
ful,  burst  out  crying.  Jack  looked  up  in  astonish 
ment.  She  lifted  her  beseeching  brown  eyes  full  of 
tears  :  "  O  Jack,  Jack  !  I  can't  bear  to  see  you  so 
wretched.  It's  all  my  fault  for  letting  you  go  that 
day.  I  'm  going  to  tell  Aunt  Hetty  so." 

Jack's  eyes  kindled  with  something  of  the  old  life  : 
"  I  was  going  anyway,  Mary,  to  get  those  boat  knees ; 
don't  ever  think  of  telling  my  mother  I  went  for  you." 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  89 


CHAPTER   VIII. 


"  —      —  When  old  ocean  roars 
And  heaves  huge  surges  to  the  trembling  shores ; 
The  groaning  hanks  are  burst  with  bellowing  sound. 
The  rocks  remurmur  and  the  deeps  rebound." 

-  The  Iliad. 

IT  was  the  last  short  day  of  the  old  year,  —  a  day 
to  remember  those  at  sea,  and  to  be  thankful  that 
you  are  safe  on  shore. 

"  Go  and  bring  Aunt  Hetty  to  supper,"  Mary  had 
begged  her  father;  "Jack  says  he'd  rather  stay 
here." 

Captain  Cameron  came  along  the  worn  footpath 
ahead  of  Aunt  Hetty  to  keep  the  buffeting  wind  from 
her.  The  waves  were  leaping  high  across  the  cove, 
from  ledge  to  wharf.  "Guess  'twas  lucky  I  put 
extra  moorin's  on  the  boats,"  he  said,  "an'  I  don't 
know  's  they  '11  stand  it  now." 

T 

There  was  a  momentous  weight  of  silence  in  the 
gray  air,  a  temporary  lull  in  the  wild  wind,  which  had 
shrieked  all  day  in  fury,  after  a  week  of  raw,  cold 
fog.  The  dry,  brown-crusted  earth,  caked  and  hard, 
showed  icy  splinters  of  frost.  Early  in  the  day, 


90  MARY  CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

dozens  of  fishing  vessels  fled  into  Boothbay  Harbor, 
but  not  a  boat  ventured  out.  Toward  night  the 
Boston-bound  Bangor  steamer  put  into  Boothbay,  an 
unprecedented  thing. 

"We  must  celebrate  New  Year's  eve,"  said  Mary, 
after  supper,  "and  have  a  fire  in  the  other  room." 
Of  late  she  had  abandoned  the  best  room.  Jack  liked 
better  to  sit  by  the  kitchen  window,  and  Captain 
Cameron,  with  the  habit  of  simple-lived  men,  pre 
ferred  the  kitchen  fire  in  the  evening.  The  old  man 
was  rather  feeble  this  winter — "getting  old  and 
rusty,"  he  said — and  it  was  harder  for  him  to  keep 
the  wood  pile  replenished  ;  Mary,  noticing  this,  had 
the  more  willingly  foregone  her  fires. 

"My!  those  flames  make  my  flesh  creep;  it's 
just  like  they  was  hissin'  and  groanin'  over  the  wicked 
ness  they  've  seen  committed,"  said  Aunt  Hetty,  with 
a  burst  of  imagination,  as  the  wood  flashed  forth 
green  and  blue  and  copper-colored  flames. 

Jack  sat  moodily  looking  into  the  fire,  and  Aunt 
Hetty  gave  herself  up  to  being  dismal.  "No,  I  don't 
want  to  hear  any  stories,  real  or  make-believe,"  she 
answered,  when  Mary  suggested  reading  Dickens' 
"  Christmas  Carol"  or  that  her  father  tell  sea  stories. 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  91 

Finally,  finding  her  attempts  to  enliven  the  little 
party  of  no  avail,  Mary  said,  "  We  may  as  well  go 
back  to  the  kitchen,"  for  the  rising  wind  flung  shrifts 
of  smoke  into  their  faces  and  blew  the  ashes  over  the 
room. 

Aunt  Hetty,  with  a  hesitancy  new  to  her,  delayed 
going  home.  "  Guess  I  '11  take  a  look  at  the  weather," 
she  said  about  eight  o'clock.  As  she  put  her  head 
out  of  the  door,  a  burst  of  sleety  rain  dashed  into  her 
face,  and  a  gust  of  wind  whirled  through  the  room. 
She  hastily  closed  the  door. 

"  Don't  let's  go  home,"  entreated  Jack. 

"Stay  all  night,"  urged  Mary. 

"  I  don't  believe  we  could  get  home  now,"  Aunt 
Hetty  admitted  reluctantly. 

"By  the  looks  of  things,  we  ain't  any  of  us  likely 
to  take  much  rest  this  night,"  said  Captain  Cameron  ; 
"  it's  goin'  to  be  a  regular  Tan-toaster." 

Never  since  they  came  to  the  island  h'ad  the  ele 
ments  racked  them  with  such  fury.  The  waves  lifted 
up  their  voices,  the  island  shook,  the  wind  screamed 
and  moaned  at  doors  and  windows,  and  at  last  beat 
out  the  fire. 

Toward    midnight    the    storm     lashed     itself     into 


92  MARY  CAMERON:   A   JtOMAXCE 

greater  force.  Forks  of  lightning  illumined  the  dark 
ness,  and  the  face  of  the  sea  in  those  flashes  —  black, 
swollen,  angry  —  was  awful  to  behold. 

"Will  the  house  go,  David?"  gasped  Aunt  Hetty, 
terrified  with  the  might  of  the  wind. 

"No,  Mehitable ;  it's  built  upon  a  strong  rock 
foundation,"  answered  Captain  Cameron  steadily. 
Tempests  were  as  nought  to  him. 

They  were  sitting,  wrapped  in  coats  and  shawls, 
around  the  table,  waiting,  not  for  the  passing  of  the 
old  year,  not  for  daylight  yet,  not  for  the  ceasing  of 
the  storm  ;  but  waiting  with  the  endurance  learned 
from  living  by  the  sea. 

Then  the  sleety  snow  began ;  hissing,  lashing 
against  the  windows,  it  broke  two  panes  of  glass. 
Instantly  the  wind  blew  out  the  light. 

Mary  hastily  stuffed  her  shawl  into  the  gap,  and 
Captain  Cameron  sprang  to  light  the  old  horn  lantern. 
Aunt  Hetty  wrung  her  hands  mutely. 

The  clock  from  the  corner  began  sounding  the 
close  of  the  old  year. 

Captain  Cameron  put  the  lantern  upon  the  table, 
and,  taking  down  his  worn  Bible  from  the  shelf  behind 
the  stove,  opened  it  and  read  the  Psalm  beginning, 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  93 

"Out  of  the  deep  have  I  cried  unto  thee,  O  Lord"; 
then,  falling  upon  his  knees,  he  prayed  aloud  for  all 
those  in  peril  on  the  sea,  for  all  wanderers  on  the  face 
of  the  earth,  for  themselves,  that  they  might  find 
their  peace  in  the  new  year. 

Jack  moved  nearer  his  mother  and  put  his  hand  in 
hers  ;  his  father  was  out  at  sea. 

Captain  Cameron  replaced  the  Bible  on  the  shelf, 
and,  after  trying  ineffectually  to  light  the  fire,  seated 
himself  on  the  lounge  to  wait  again. 

"  Lie  down,  father  dear,"  said  Mary.  He  yielded  ; 
and  after  covering  him  tenderly  with  an  old  great 
coat,  she  drew  her  chair  close  to  his  side 

The  old  man's  thoughts  came  back  from  his  son, 
away  now  these  ten  years,  to  his  daughter,  whose 
waving  hair,  catching  the  light  from  the  lantern, 
seemed  the  only  other  bright  spot  in  the  room. 

Despite  the  stark  storm  outside,  there  was  peace  in 
that  little  kitchen. 

They  moved  occasionally,  through  the  long  night 
watches,  to  shake  off  the  numbing  cold.  Almost  the 
only  sound  in  the  room  came  from  the  clock's  ticking, 
or  the  sudden  flare  of  the  lantern. 

At  length  the  gray  dawn,  stealing  in,  roused  them. 


94  MARY  CAMERON:    A    ROMANCE 

The  world  outside  was  covered  with  snow,  deep  and 
close-packed. 

Captain  Cameron  found  he  could  start  a  fire.  Mary, 
her  fingers  stinging  with  the  cold,  made  some  strong 
coffee  and  brought  a  cupful  to  Aunt  Hetty,  against 
whose  shoulder  Jack  had  fallen  asleep. 

Just  then  there  came  a  heavy  pounding  at  the  wood 
shed  door.  Jack  woke  with  a  start.  "  What 's  that?  " 
he  exclaimed. 

Captain  Cameron  hurried  to  the  door. 

Three  men  stood  there,  and  a  huge  black  dog,  ris 
ing  on  its  haunches,  looked  like  another  man. 

"We've  been  wrecked,  sir,"  said  one  of  the  men, 
who  proved  to  be  the  captain  ;  "we're  from  Nova 
Scotia,  an'  our  schooner  went  ashore,  about  midnight, 
on  some  rocks  out  here." 

Without  waiting  to  hear  more,  Captain  Cameron 
brought  the  men  to  the  kitchen  fire ;  and  the  ship 
wrecked  captain,  a  man  of  few  words,  finished  his 
story,  while  Mary  hurried  to  make  more  coffee. 

"I  didn't  know  where  we  was,  but  I  knew  it  was 
rocks  we  'd  struck,  for  we  drifted  right  off.  I  could 
feel  the  schooner  settlin'  and  I  knew  we  could  n't 
pump  her  out,  so  we  launched  a  boat,  though  it  did  n't 


OF  FISHERMAN1*!  ISLAND.  95 

seem  much  use  in  that  livin'  sea  ;  but,  in  about  a  min 
ute,  we  was  flung  ashore  on  a  rocky  beach  place." 

"You  must  have  struck  on  the  Hypocrites,  drifted 
to  the  southward,  an'  been  thrown  up  on  the  bar," 
interrupted  Captain  Cameron. 

"  It  was  land,  that 's  all  we  knew  or  cared,"  the 
captain  went  on  ;  "we  could  n't  see  a  thing  but  snow, 
so  we  crouched  close  together  with  the  dog  to  keep 
warm,  an'  when  it  grew  light,  it  stopped  snowin'  an' 
we  saw  your  chimney.  We  're  nigh  to  frozen  an' 
famished,  sir." 

""Whatever  we  have  is  yours,"  said  Captain  Cam 
eron,  simply.  For  a  moment  at  the  door  he  had  dared 
hope  one  of  the  men  might  prove  to  be  his  son. 

The  great  dog,  standing  on  its  haunches,  begged 
for  food,  thumping  the  floor  with  its  tail.  Jack's 
laugh  rang  out  at  the  'droll  gravity  of  the  dog,  and 
his  laughter  seemed  to  break  the  spell  of  the  dreadful 
night. 

With  every  helpful  instinct  roused,  Mary  and  Aunt 
Hetty  worked  quickly  to  give  the  men  hot  coffee  and 
food,  and  to  bandage  their  frost-bitten  hands. 

For  hours  after,  the  bitter  wind,  though  lessening 
iu  fury,  swept  the  cold  green  water  about  the  rocks, 


96  MARY  CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

tearing  its  surface  into  long,  glittering  waves.  Mary's 
rowboat  and  Captain  Cameron's  dory  had  been  washed 
away  ;  his  cutter  was  the  only  boat  in  the  cove  now. 

The  house  was  almost  snowed  under.  It  took  Cap 
tain  Cameron  the  entire  morning,  with  what  help  the 
men  could  give,  to  make  a  path  through  the  gully  to 
the  barn.  The  two  cows  were  safe,  as  the  stout  barn 
had  withstood  the  storm ;  so  had  the  boathouse, 
but  the  fishhouse  on  the  point  had  fallen  in. 

How  Mary's  tired  body  and  heart  ached  that  night, 
with  the  work  and  strain  of  the  last  forty-eight  hours  ! 
Aunt  Hetty,  unable  to  go  home,  was  cross  and  irri 
table.  Jack,  feverishly  nervous,  gazed  out  of  the  win 
dow  all  day  —  his  boat  would  be  sunk  deeper  now 
than  ever.  Captain  Cameron,  with  the  shovelling  and 
the  unusual  work,  looked  bent  and  aged.  Their  pro 
visions  had  been  heavily  taxed,  and  it  had  been  trying 
to  have  the  strange  men  about.  But  Mary's  courage 
had  not  failed.  At  nightfall  she  buried  her  face  in 
the  dog's  soft,  black  fur,  and  felt  a  glow  of  unselfish 
happiness  in  her  heart. 

When  the  sun  burst  forth  the  second  day  it  brought 
neither  warmth  nor  cheer,  only  a  clearer  shaft  of  cold 
from  the  deep  blue  sky.  For  another  day  there  was 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  97 

hardly  a  sail  in  sight,  though  occasionally  a  fishing 
vessel  scudded  past  under  bare  poles ;  the  Bangor 
steamboat  set  out  late  the  second  afternoon. 

Captain  Cameron's  boat  could  not  have  lived  in  the 
high  sea,  not  even  to  reach  Ram  Island.  The  ship 
wrecked  men,  rough  and  honest,  fearing  to  trespass 
on  the  kindness  of  strangers,  kept  themselves  in  the 
boathouse,  and  slept  on  the  hay  in  the  barn  under 
old  coverlids.  They  helped  break  the  path  to  Aunt 
Hetty's  house  and  to  the  well,  where  the  salt  water 
had  to  be  dipped  out ;  for  the  wind  on  that  wild  night 
carried  the  beach  south  of  the  house  back  into  the 
marsh  about  eight  feet,  and  there  was  a  foot  or  more 
of  water  in  the  well. 

The  third  day  the  wind  shifted  to  west  southwest, 
to  stay.  By  nightfall  a  steady  rain  set  in,  reduced 
the  snowdrifts  so  that  the  bare  ground  showed  again, 
freshened  the  well,  and  best  of  all,  beat  down  the  sea. 

The  men  were  impatient  to  be  off,  and  Captain 
Cameron  started  with  them  early  on  the  fourth  morn 
ing.  They  said  good-by  with  awkward  thanks,  and 
the  huge,  gentle  dog  followed  them  slowly.  With  a 
sudden  thought  the  captain  turned,  whistled  the  dog 
close  to  him,  and  asked  Mary  bluntly  :  — 


98  MARY   CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

"  Would  you  like  him  to  keep?" 

"Oh,  may  I  have  him?"  Mary's  face  was  aglow 
in  a  moment. 

"He's  yours,"  answered  the  captain  gallantly,  giv 
ing  the  dog's  head  a  farewell  stroke;  "stay  with  the 
lady,  Skipper." 

Just  before  the  men  started,  Mary  overheard 
them  talking  about  sending  a  diver  dov/n  to  the 
wrecked  schooner,  but  the  captain  dismissed  the 
subject  by  saying,  "There  ain't  u  hundred  dollars' 
worth  of  stuff  in  the  old  hulk,  an'  she's  twenty 
fathom  deep.  I  '11  just  let  her  go,  an'  get  what 
insurance  I  can." 

Captain  Cameron  brought  back  no  letters,  only  a 
bundle  of  papers  from  Judge  Weston  and  another 
package  of  books  addressed  to  Mary  in  the  distinctive 
handwriting. 

"  Boothbay  folks  tell  me  'twas  the  worst  storm 
for  twenty  years,"  the  old  man  said;  "there's  been 
wrecks  all  along  the  coast."  And  this  report  was  veri 
fied,  day  by  day,  for  weeks  after,  by  the  sea's  casting 
up  on  the  island  shores  all  sorts  of  spoil  —  broken 
oars  and  spars,  dishes,  casks  of  ship's  biscuit,  dead 
birds,  tattered  bits  of  sail  —  nothing  worse,  though 


OF   FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  99 

Mary  kept  away  from  the  beaches  for  dread  of  what 
she  might  see. 

Two  months  had  passed  without  a  word  from  Rob 
Weston.  Mary  had  almost  forgotten  to  count  the 
time  these  last  eventful  weeks. 

On  his  next  trip  to  Boothbay,  Captain  Cameron 
carried  a  passenger  —  Mary,  who  was  intent  turning 
over  a  plan  which  had  shaped  itself  in  her  mind. 

While  her  father  did  his  errands,  Mary  went  to  the 
Custom  House,  found  an  address  in  the  Marine 
Register  for  a  letter  she  had  written,  and  then  mailed 
the  letter. 

On  the  homeward  sail  she  took  her  father  into  her 
confidence.  He  shook  his  head  deprecatingly  at  first, 
but  when  she  said,  looking  into  his  face  with  a  tender 
little  smile,  "  I  know  it  will  make  him  well ;  I  must 
do  it,"  he  looked  back  at  her  with  proud,  loving  eyes 
and  did  not  object  again. 

Still  no  letter  from  Rob.  But  Mary  was  waiting 
with  feverish  eagerness  for  something  else  now. 

It  came  —  a  letter  in  a  cramped  handwriting  ;  and 
a  second  letter  was  speedily  despatched  to  Portland. 

One  afternoon  Jack  was  sitting  in  his  accustomed 
place,  idly  turning  the  leaves  of  the  new  almanac. 


100  MARY  CAMERON:   A  ROMANCE 

Glancing  up,  his  eyes  as  usual  rested  on  the  same  spot, 
off  Ocean  Point. 

"  Come  here,  Mary,"  he  said  excitedly.  "What's 
that  tng  doing  out  there?" 

"What  can  it  be?"  exclaimed  Man7,  coming  up 
behind  him.  She  had  been  watching  the  black  steam- 
tug  for  five  minutes  from  the  pantry  window,  with  a 
fast  beating  heart. 

Something  was  going  on.  Jack  watched  with 
growing  interest.  "What  can  it  be?"  he  asked 
again  and  again,  speculating  and  questioning,  with 
out  guessing  the  truth.  Finally,  darkness  cut  off 
his  view. 

Then  a  great  wonder  happened.  Into  the  cove 
early  the  next  morning  came  that  same  black  tug, 
towing  a  water-logged,  barnacle-studded  boat  —  none 
other  than  the  Kady. 

After  the  first  excitement  was  over,  Aunt  Hetty 
called  Mary  into  her  house,  and  into  her  bedroom. 
She  broke  down  and  cried  a  bit,  leaning  on  Mary's 
strong,  young  shoulder ;  then  she  dried  her  eyes  with 
the  corner  of  her  apron,  and  said,  "  This  '11  cure  him, 
Mary.  Did  you  see  him  run  down  to  the  wharf?  He 
acts  different  already.  Oh,  Mary,  how  did  you  hap- 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  101 

pen  to  think  of  doing  what  his  own  mother  did  n't 
think  of?"  And  Mary  told  her. 

"Did  it  cost  a  whole  hundred  dollars?"  Aunt 
Hetty  insisted  on  knowing. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Mary,  reluctantly. 

Aunt  Hetty  went  to  the  side  of  the  bed,  took  out 
from  between  the  feather  bed  and  the  straw  mattress 
a  long  stocking  of  blue  homespun  yarn,  seated  herself 
on  the  bed,  poured  out  a  stream  of  silver  dollars, 
bills,  and  small  change,  and  began  counting  it. 

"What  are  you  doing,  Aunt  Hetty?"  demanded 
Mary,  with  a  singular  note  in  her  voice. 

Aunt  Hetty  looked  up.  Mary  had  never  spoken 
like  that  to  her.  "I'm  going  to  pay  you  back,  as 
far 's  I  can.  I'm  poor,  but  I  don't  want  to  be 
beholden  to  anybody." 

"You  shall  not  pay  me  back,  not  a  cent,"  said 
Mary  in  the  same  tone.  "  I  owed  that  to  Jack." 
She  turned  and  went  out  of  the  room,  and  Aunt 
Hetty  knew  that  the  matter  was  ended. 

"You  planned  it  all  yourself,  Mary?"  questioned 
Jack,  coming  in  at  noon  to  warm  himself  and  to  go 
over  the  story  again.  He  had  spent  the  entire  morn 
ing  hovering  in  ecstasy  around  the  boat,  looking  her 


102  MARY  CAMERON:  A  ROMANCE 

over,  handling  her,  even  putting  his  fingers,  with 
fond  tenderness,  through  the  sail,  —  for,  eaten  by  the 
salt  water,  it  gave  way  at  a  touch.  "  You  wrote  to  the 
diver,  and  made  all  the  arrangements,  and  took  that 
hundred  dollars,  all  you  had,  oui  of  the  bank  !  Think 
of  it,  the  men  on  the  tug  said  she  was  standing  plumb 
upright,  my  poor  boat.  The  diver  had  to  take  out 
the  ballast,  and  the  men  said  it  was  fine  to  see  her 
come  to  the  surface." 

He  stopped  a  moment,  he  was  weak  yet ;  then  with 
an  effort  he  said,  standing  erect,  his  eyes  gleaming 
with  new  life,  "Do  you  know,  all  the  time  I've  felt 
as  though  I  was  down  there  with  the  Kady,  cold  and 
alone,  and  going  deeper  down.  I  can't  ever  thank 
you  enough,  Mary  !  I  must  go  right  to  work  on  her  !  " 

This  was  reward  enough.  Mary  cried  herself  to 
sleep  that  night  from  sheer  relief  and  thankfulness. 

For  the  first  —  though  not  indeed  for  the  last  time  — 
something  of  the  deeper  and  nobler  comprehension  of 
human  weakness  and  of  human  suffering  had  been 
revealed  to  her,  something  of  that  larger  knowledge 
without  which  the  sense  of  duty  can  never  be  fully 
acquired,  nor  the  understanding  of  unselfish  goodness, 
nor  the  spirit  of  tenderness. 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  103 


CHAPTP:R  ix. 


The  Father  loos^ih  Winter's  chain, 
The  truf  Creator,  who  doth  reign 
O'er  Times  and  Seasons,  doth  again 
Unwind  the  Wave-ropes  that  the  Main 
Confines  within  its  Span." 

—  Beowulf. 


"  ~FT~P  March  hill,"  to  the  border  of  April,  had  come 
^-J       the  new  year,  begun   in    such  great    stress. 
Fisherman's  Island  was  bare  of  snow,    and  the  soil, 
thinly  covering  the  rocks,  had  quickly  dried. 

All  day  long  the  sound  of  Jack's  hammer  and  saw 
rang  out  from  the  boathouse.  The  Kady  was  afloat 
again,  thoroughly  overhauled,  and  as  good  as  new; 
Jack  had  sailed  triumphantly  over  to  see  Sam  Merrill 
on  his  first  trip.  Now  he  was  building  a  new  rowboat 
for  Mary,  —  "  the  prettiest  in  all  Boothbay  Harbor,"  he 
declared  it  should  be.  Every  morning  and  every  night 
he  ran  out  to  the  south  shore  and  jumped  a  hundred 
times  from  one  shelving  rock  to  another,  for  the  doc 
tor  had  told  him  it  would  require  vigorous  exercise  to 
overcome  the  tendency  to  muscular  stiffening.  He 


104  MARY  CAMERON:   A   ROMANCK 

was  fast  regaining  elasticity  of  body ;  that  of  mind 
had  returned  in  one  supreme  flash  with  the  Kady. 

Mary  fell  again  into  her  habit  of  taking  long  walks. 
During  her  anxiety  over  Jack  she  had  forgotten  to 
think  so  often  of  Rob  Weston.  But  now  that  Jack 
was  himself  again,  and  winter  was  relaxing  its  hold, 
her  mind  reverted  to  the  past  and  to  herself.  She  had 
only  a  half  hope  of  Rob  Westou's  return  from  Europe 
—  a  hope  that  grew  dimmer  as  the  days  went  on. 

After  ten  weeks'  silence  a  letter  had  come.  She 
had  read  it  so  often  that  the  words  were  engraved  on 
her  mind  ;  but  she  had  not  answered  it. 

In  the  letter  Rob  told  her  of  having  changed  his 
studio,  of  feeling  more  at  home  in  Paris,  and  liking 
the  routine  better.  And  he  continued  :  "  A  few  weeks 
ago  when  I  was  working  in  the  Louvre,  copying  or 
trying  to  copy  a  Botticelli  madonna,  who  should  come 
along  but  Miss  Kendall  and  her  father.  I  dined  with 
them  that  night  at  the  Continental  Hotel,  and  of 
course  have  seen  them  occasionally  since  ;  they  are  to 
be  here  a  month  longer. 

"  Thank  you  for  such  a  good  letter.  I  should  have 
answered  earlier  if  I  had  not  been  so  busy  with  mov 
ing  and  getting  settled  in  my  new  studio.  I  am  look- 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  105 

ing  forward  with  much  pleasure  to  hearing  from  you, 
and  especially  to  seeing  you  again." 

Not  one  definite  word  about  coming  home,  —  and 
how  the  mention  of  Miss  Kendall  rankled  ! 

There  was  no  one  to  whom  Mary  could  open  her 
heart,  no  one  to  save  her  from  the  morbid  revulsion 
of  feeling  that  set  in.  Aunt  Hetty,  the  one  woman 
at  hand,  had  common  ground  of  interest  with  the  girl 
about  everyday  matters  only ;  and  though  there  was  a 
strong  affection  between  them,  born  of  good  offices 
given  and  returned,  their  natures  were  totally  differ 
ent  —  the  one  self-sufficient)  intensely  practical,  pro 
saic  ;  the  other  young,  capable  of  generous  enthusi 
asm  and  warm  devotion,  and  feeding  her  mind  on  the 
noblest  ideals  of  literature. 

If  there  had  been  anybody  or  anything  to  divert 
the  girl's  mind,  she  would  not  have  drifted  back  into 
depression ;  for  on  that  New  Year's  night  the  scales 
had  fallen  from  her  eyes,  showing  her  to  herself,  wil 
ful,  unsubmissive,  making  a  substance  out  of  an  un 
reality  ;  and  there  had  come  to  her  a  vision  of  the 
truth  that  only  the  Infinite  Love  can  satisfy  the  human 
heart.  Later  she  might  learn  the  larger  truth  that,  in 
the  highest  sense,  God's  love  and  human  love  are  one. 


106  MARY  CAME  EON:    A   ROMANCE 

But  the  New  Year's  vision  dimmed  as  the  days 
lengthened.  In  spite  of  herself  she  clung  to  the  old 
ideal ;  she  could  no  more  help  this  passionate  fidelity 
of  temperament  than  the  eyes  she  saw  with.  And 
then  began  that  desperate  struggle  between  courage 
and  despair,  between  light  and  darkness,  between 
patient  submission  and  mad  revolt,  which  all  sensi 
tive  and  generous  natures  must  wage  in  their  own 
souls  at  least  once,  perhaps  many  times,  in  their 
lives. 

Memory  at  such  times  plays  like  an  electric  storm. 
Incidents  long  forgotten  came  back  with  singular 
vividness,  and  Mary  saw  the  past  as  she  had  not  seen 
it  while  it  was  the  present.  Remembrances  of  her 
mother,  recollections  of  her  earlier  years,  all  the  in 
cidents  relating  to  Rob  Weston,  recurred  with  intense 
clearness.  And  out  of  her  contest  Mary  passed  from 
girlhood  into  womanhood. 

The  early  April  day  was  heavenly  fresh  and  full  of 
promise.  Aunt  Hetty  was  dipping  candles,  —an  econ 
omy  she  had  practised  since  they  came  to  Fisherman's, 
—  and  Mary,  sitting  in  the  kitchen  doorway,  was 
watching  her,  as  one  after  another  she  dipped  the 
already  coated  strings  suspended  from  sticks,  a  dozen 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  107 

strings  to  a  stick,  into  the  great  kettle  of  hot  tallow 
on  the  stove. 

"  What  ever  is  the  matter  with  you,  Mary?  "  Aunt 
Hetty  spoke  sharply.  She  had  come  of  hard-working 
inland  people,  and  her  untiring  thrift  and  energy  were 
in  marked  contrast  to  Mary's  more  leisurely  ways, 
inherited  from  sea-going  ancestry.  "  You  sit  mopsin' 
an'  mopin'  round  just  the  way  girls  do  when  they  've 
got  a  beau.  Mebbe  you  're  thinkin'  of  that  Rob 
Weston,"  she  added  with  cruel  bluntness  ;  the  storm 
of  criticism  had  been  gathering  for  some  time. 
"  Come  to  think  of  it,  you  have  n't  been  the  same 
since  he  went  away.  But  I'd  have  more  spunk.  I 
would  n't  waste  my  time  thinkin'  about  a  man  who 
did  n't  even  trouble  to  write  to  me." 

"If  you  please,  I  haven't  answered  his  last  letter," 
Mary  replied  with  flashing  eyes,  her  pride  stung  by 
Aunt  Hetty's  thrust. 

k'  So  you  have  been  hearin'  from  him  !  "  Aunt  Hetty 
saw  the  disturbance  in  Mary's  sensitive  face  and 
spoke  of  something  else  ;  she  had  scored  her  point. 
Then,  because  she  had  the  girl's  interest  warmly 
at  heart,  before  Captain  Cameron  started  over  to  the 
harbor  with  fresh  fish  that  day,  she  said  to  him  :  — 


108  MARY  CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

"  Mary  seems  kinder  ailin'.  I  mistrust  it's  because 
sbe  spends  too  much  time  thinkin'  about  that  Rob 
Western." 

Captain  Cameron  shook  his  head  sturdily.  "  No, 
you  are  mistaken ;  Mary 's  too  sensible  a  girl  for 
that." 

Seeing  that  she  made  no  impression,  Aunt  Hetty 
turned  homeward,  commenting  to  herself,  "•  What  do 
men,  pack  of  foolish  critters  that  they  are,  know 
about  girls,  anyway?  " 

Unable  to  stay  indoors,  after  her  father  went,  Mary 
worked  all  day  in  her  garden  —  the  fenced-off  square 
south  of  the  house,  which  was  a  wilderness  of  sticks 
and  straw  and  rubbish  from  the  last  year.  Late  in 
the  afternoon  she  sat  down  on  the  porch,  resting  her 
face  upon  the  palm  of  her  hand. 

The  song  sparrows  twittered  near  her  —  she  had  fed 
them  all  through  March,  and  they  hopped  around  her 
fearlessly  —  the  swallows  darted  in  and  out  under  the 
eaves  of  the  boathouse,  the  pound  of  hammer  and 
scrape  of  saw  mingled  with  Jack's  whistling  as  he 
worked.  Curling  blue  smoke  rose  from  the  chimney 
of  the  little  brown  house  across  the  cove  —  Aunt  Hetty 
was  making  soap  this  pleasant  afternoon.  Across  tne 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  109 

quiet  water  came  the  calls  of  the  Merrill  children, 
romping  around  Ram  Island. 

Mary  brushed  back,  with  an  impatient  gesture,  the 
cloud  of  hair  which  the  light  wind  blew  into  her  eyes. 
Her  face  was  more  delicate  in  contour  than  a  year 
ago,  and  the  exercise  in  her  garden  had  brought  u  flush 
into  her  cheeks,  grown  so  pale  now. 

The  afternoon  was  oppressively  still.  Mary  knew 
her  father  would  not  be  at  home  until  late.  Every 
body  in  her  world  was  busy.  She  was  too  tired  to 
work  longer,  and  she  felt  wretchedly  alone ;  even 
Skipper  had  deserted  her  for  Jack. 

She  could  endure  it  no  longer.  Going  into  the 
house,  she  threw  a  little  red  shawl  over  her  shoulders, 
for  the  air  was  growing  chilly,  and  wandered,  bare 
headed,  toward  the  south  shore.  Wrapping  the  shawl 
closer,  she  sat  down  and  leaned  against  a  tall,  moss- 
draped  fir  tree,  standing  close  to  the  rocks  which 
shelved  down,  tier  below  tier,  worn  smooth  by  cen 
turies  of  waves. 

The  tide  was  nearing  its  full.  Over  on  the  White 
Island  and  Outer  Heron  the  waves  broke  monoton 
ously.  The  world  might  be  empty  of  people,  save  for 
a  few  distant  sails.  The  mocking  ocean  spread  miles 


110  MART  CAMERON:  A  ROMANCE 

and  miles  away  to  the  horizon,  a  waste  of  water,  be 
tween  her  and  Europe. 

Aunt  Hetty's  words  had  rung  in  her  mind  all  day ! 

Except  for  the  noise  of  the  water,  as  the  long 
swells  broke  foaming,  tumbling,  frothing  against  the 
rocks,  there  was  no  sound. 

She  thought  the  sense  of  loneliness,  the  silence, 
would  drive  her  mad. 

Then  the  water's  flinging,  forceful  activity  riveted 
her  attention.  The  waves  spent  their  force,  were 
splendidly  shattered.  Why  not,  like  them,  dash  her 
self  with  all  her  force  against  those  rocks?  Better 
still,  as  the  water  slipped  back  from  its  strong  up- 
gathering,  why  not  slip  back  with  it? 

What  was  life,  anyway?  What  use  was  loving, 
what  use  was  anything? 

Her  mind  began  traveling  over  the  old  story  again. 
Why  had  she  yielded  to  her  feeling  for  Rob  Weston  ? 
It  was  unworthy,  without  real  foundation.  She 
blamed  him  hotly  for  his  unintelligible  looks,  his  im 
pulsive  actions,  his  mention  of  home-coming,  and  his 
subsequent  silence.  Would  it  never  end,  this  intoler 
able  torture  of  memory  and  regret?  Why  not  end  it 
now? 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  Ill 

The  low,  whispering  wind  seemed  to  call  her,  the 
leaping  waves  beckoned  with  foam-wreathed  arras. 
Her  brain  almost  reeled,  for  the  seething  water,  close 
up  to  her  now,  was  one  dizzying  whirl. 

In  despair,  to  save  herself,  she  flung  her  arms 
around  the  tree  trunk.  For  a  moment  that  seemed 
to  bend  forward  with  her.  Then  it  held  her  back. 

How  long  she  clung  to  it  she  could  not  tell.  The 
tide,  turning,  ebbed  a  little  with  a  sullen  sound. 

By  and  by  she  dared  unloose  her  arms  from  the 
tree,  and  she  tried  to  rise,  but  sank  back,  too  weak  to 
stand. 

A  sound  of  rushing  through  the  dry  grass,  a  light 
bound,  and  Skipper's  cold  nose  was  thrust  in  her  face. 
A  moment  later  Jack  came  running  out  to  take  his 
evening  exercise. 

"Why,  Mary!  What's  the  matter?  It's  long 
past  supper  time,  and  your  father  was  coming  into  the 
cove  just  as  I  started.  Guess  you  've  been  asleep," 
he  said,  appearing  not  to  notice  her  strained  eyes,  her 
drooping  figure. 

He  began  jumping  from  rock  to  rock,  and  his  energy 
revived  her.  Skipper  kept  on  licking  her  hands  lov 
ingly.  When  Jack  was  ready  to  go  she  summoned 


112  MARY  CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

strength  to  rise,  steadying  herself  by  putting  her 
hand  on  Skipper's  head,  and  she  held  it  there  as  the 
dog  walked  hack  with  her  close  to  her  side.  Jack 
whistled  to  save  her  from  talking,  and  he  helped  her 
gently  over  the  rough  places. 

As  her  mind  recovered  itself  in  that  walk  home 
ward,  Mary  wondered  what  would  have  happened  hud 
she  slipped  off  into  the  water  ;  she  shuddered  to  think 
how  near  she  came  to  it.  Her  father  and  Jack  would 
have  walked  over  the  island  all  night,  calling  and 
looking  for  her,  while  her  body  was  floating  off  with 
the  undertow  of  the  tide  ;  and  she  pictured  their  gradu 
ally  growing  conviction  that  she  had  ventured  too  far 
out  on  the  rocks  and  been  washed  away.  But  her 
poor  old  father  would  not  have  given  up  the  search 
till  the  last  ray  of  hope  were  gone. 

A  bright  fire  was  crackling  in  the  kitchen  stove,  and 
the  teakettle  was  singing  merrily  when  she  entered 
the  house. 

"Hello,  my  little  girl!"  said  Captain  Cameron, 
depositing  an  armful  of  wood  by  the  stove,  "  you  're 
out  late.  My  !  how  cold  your  hands  are.  I  'm  afraid 
you  ain't  feelin'  well,"  he  went  on,  looking  at  her 
anxiously,  k'  an'  I  guess  you  'd  better  have  a  change. 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  113 

I  saw  Mis'  Morton  over  to  Boothbay,  an'  she  sent 
pertikelar  word  for  you  to  come  an'  make  her  a  visit, 
an'  have  a  good  time.  Aunt  Hetty  '11  look  out  for  me 
all  right."  He  had  pondered  over  Aunt  Hetty's 
words,  found  an  answering  echo  of  apprehension  in 
his  own  heart,  and  had  gone  to  consult  Mrs.  Morton, 
an  old  friend  of  his  wife's. 

Mary  put  her  arms  around  her  father's  neck  and 
laid  her  cool  cheek  close  to  his.  "  Let  me  stay  with 
you,  father.  I  don't  care  for  the  things  other  girls 
like ;  I  only  want  to  stay  with  you  always." 

And  the  gentle-hearted  old  man  answered,  "  My 
daughter  is  so  precious  to  me  that  I  don't  want  her  to 
go,  any  more  than  she  wants  to." 


114  MARY  CAMERON:   A  ROMANCE 


CHAFFER  X. 

"It  is  Nature's  highest  reward  to  a  true,  simple,  great 
soul  that  he  thus  gets  to  be  a  part  of  herself." 

—  Thomas  Carlyle. 

IN  the  exuberance  of  her  sense  of  escape  and  con 
quest,  Mary  was  merciless  with  herself  at  first, 
as  strong-natured  young  people  are  wont  to  be. 
Watching  her  those  days,  Captain  Cameron  thought 
she  was  growing  more  like  her  mother. 

It  took  rare  courage  to  begin  life  anew  here  in 
this  island  isolation.  The  alternatives  were  simple, 
loving  companionship  with  nature  —  through  flowers, 
birds,  sunsets  —  or  a  lapsing  into  mere  negative  ex 
istence  given  over  to  narrow  concerns. 

Instinctively  Mary  made  the  finer  .choice,  and  un 
consciously  she  began  to  bind  nature  to  herself  with 
fellowships  which  for  a  time  quieted  the  need  of 
human  association.  She  watched  the  quivering  waters 
curled  by  the  breath  of  the  morning  under  the  deep 
ening  dawn,  each  day  bringing  a  world  newborn  ;  she 
opened  her  eyes  to  the  glory  of  the  sunset  cloud- 
worlds,  and  always  she  heard  the  mighty  sea  chanting 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  115 

that  mystic  and  eternal  hymn  which  none  may  hear 
without  awe,  which  no  musician  may  learn.  She 
fathomed  countless  secrets  of  the  air  and  sea,  count 
less  signs  of  the  heavens  ;  she  saw  and  heard  and  felt 
much  of  that  which,  though  old  as  the  heavens  and 
the  earth,  is  yet  eternally  new  and  eternally  young 
with  the  holiness  of  beauty. 

Slowly  outside  her  windows  the  world  awoke,  the 
grass  brightened,  the  willow  buds  swelled  and  grew, 
until  the  green  and  gold  glory  of  the  spring  was  upon 
the  island. 

Touched  into  harmony,  Mary's  nature  awoke  too, 
healed,  though  not  satisfied  quite,  by  the  magic  power 
of  the  air  and  the  sea,  whose  strength  seemed  to  enter 
into  her.  Her  eyes  caught  anew  the  sea  mystery,  her 
outdoor  life  gave  her  a  fresh,  clear  color,  with  sound 
sleep  at  night. 

Like  Mary,  Jack  was  all  alive  with  the  spring.  He 
had  finished  Mary's  rowboat  and  was  building  new 
lobster  traps  to  replace  the  winter  losses. 

The  air  was  full  of  tender  balm,  and  the  soft  lap 
of  water  on  the  rugged  shore  came  in  through  the 
open  south  window  of  the  best  room,  where  Man7  sat 
in  her  speak-a-bit  corner,  books  and  sewing  piled  high 


116  MARY  CAMERON:   A  ROMANCE 

around  her,  a  fire  burning  on  the  hearth  to  dry  off  the 
dampness  of  the  mid-April  afternoon  —  the  winter's 
storms  had  brought  great  quantities  of  driftwood 
almost  to  their  doors.  Skipper  lay  stretching  and 
dozing  before  the  fire.  Outside,  through  the  soft 
showers,  the  robins  called  joyously. 

Jack,  dressed  in  oilskins,  an  old  sou'easter  tipped 
back  on  his  head,  appeared  at  the  open  window.  His 
face  was  brown  and  ruddy  now. 

"  I  've  got  to  quit  working  on  the  new  traps  and  go 
to  hauling  the  old  ones  with  Uncle  Charles,"  he  said  ; 
"the  Portland  smack  will  be  along  any  day  now,  and 
we  have  n't  got  many  lobsters  in  the  cage.  Come  and 
see  us  start,  for  luck,  will  you  ?  " 

Glad  of  an  excuse  to  go  out  of  doors,  Mary  thrust 
her  arms  into  a  yellow  oilskin  jacket  and,  with  Skipper 
at  her  heels,  ran  down  bareheaded  to  watch  the  start. 

"Shall  I  read  the  last  lobster  law  to  you?"  she 
asked. 

"  We  know  it,  never  you  fear,"  replied  Jack  ;  "  the 
fish  warden  hasn't  caught  us  yet." 

Lobstering  off  the  Maine  coast  has  been  more  and 
more  restricted  in  the  last  dozen  years.  Each  doubt 
ful-sized  lobster  must  be  measured,  and  the  "short" 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  117 

ones,  under  ten  and  a  half  inches,  dropped  back  into 
the  sea,  else  if  the  fish  warden  happens  along  he  can 
collect  a  fine  of  five  dollars l  for  each  delinquent 
lobster.  The  Camerons  had,  as  usual,  about  a  hun 
dred  traps  down  around  the  island,  and  "hauling  the 
traps"  meant  at  least  two  hours  of  hard  work  —  mere 
muscular  work,  however,  for  as  Jack  said,  "  A  man 
does  n't  need  to  know  much  more  than  a  lobster  does 
to  catch  him." 

Captain  Cameron  sat  in  the  stern  of  the  boat,  his 
silver-gray  hair  showing  below  his  black  sou'easter, 
a  serene  smile  lighting  his  face  as  he  turned  to  call 
good -by  to  Mary  ;  Jack  was  speeding  the  boat  ahead 
with  strong  strokes. 

"  It'll  be  clear  when  you  come  back,  your  kelp  is 
almost  dry,"  cried  Mar}',  waving  the  long  festoon  of 
kelp,  the  fisherman's  barometer,  which  hung,  a  fan 
tastic  ornament,  on  the  fish  house. 

Already,  overhead,  blue  sky  was  showing  through 
the  clouds.  Far  away  in  the  distance  the  sea  spread  it 
self  out  in  sleepy  stillness.  A  huge  fishhawk  splashed 
into  the  water,  and  Mary,  watching,  saw  him  rise  with 
a  fish  in  his  talons  and  fly  southward.  Skipper  made 
a  jump  in  the  air  toward  the  bird. 

1  Law  of  1897. 


118  MARY   GAMER  OX:   A    ROMANCE 

<k  I  haven't  seen  my  fishhawks  to-day,"  said  Mary, 
turning  to  follow  the  direction  of  the  bird.  "  Come 
on,  Skipper." 

Just  beyond  the  rocky  bar  stood  a  tall,  scraggy  tree, 
and  its  gnarled  arms  held  a  curious,  bulky  nest,  to 
which  the  same  birds  returned  each  year.  The  great 
uncouth  creatures  had  been  a  constant  delight  to 
Mary,  for  their  repairs  upon  the  old  nest  home  had 
been  carried  on  vigorously  ever  since  their  welcome 
coming  had  foretold  the  early  spring.  It  was  a  huge 
nest,  about  three  feet  across  and  two  feet  deep,  and 
it  looked  like  a  great  heap  of  brush,  dry  branches 
and  seaweed,  as  it  was. 

The  fishhawks  were  half  tame,  and  evidently  did 
not  mind  Mary's  presence.  She  watched  them  while 
they  ate  their  supper,  awkwardly  balancing  themselves 
on  the  edge  of  the  nest,  then  wheeling  noisily  away 
only  to  return  again  and.,  after  a  queer  nocturnal  toilet, 
settle  themselves  for  the  night. 

The  sun  had  vanished  when  Mary  walked  back 
along  the  grassy  footpath  to  the  house,  and  the  crim 
son  afterglow,  warm  and  vivid,  lay  over  the  sea.  The 
robins  were  chirping  good-night,  a  stray  bluebird  sang 
"purity,  purity,"  and  a  brown  thrush,  rare  visitor, 


OF  FISHERMAN' 8  ISLAND.  119 

swelling  its  slender  throat,  sang  from  the  willow  tree 
as  if  its  heart  would  break.  The  birds  had  hardly 
been  quiet  a  moment  all  day,  and  Mary  had  worked  to 
their  music  —  they  seemed  to  her  like  little  souls  pour 
ing  themselves  out  in  song.  As  there  were  few  trees 
on  the  island  in  which  the  birds  could  build,  these 
songsters  were  birds  of  passage,  save  the  song  spar 
rows. 

The  heavy-laden  dory  was  rounding  the  point  a 
half  mile  away.  Mary  rekindled  the  fire,  started  the 
supper,  and  lighted  a  lamp  to  make  her  father's  home 
coming  cheerful.  The  dory  drew  up  to  the  lobster  car, 
and  the  two  men  quickly  transferred  the  lobsters  from 
the  dory.  They  did  not  come  directly  home,  but  rowed 
across  to  the  company's  wharf,  though  it  was  darken 
ing  fast ;  and  Mary  knew  they  were  going  to  catch 
herring  for  the  next  day's  bait,  so  she  took  a  thick 
wrap  and  went  to  look  on,  seating  herself  on  the 
wharf,  Skipper  beside  her. 

"Good  luck,  father?" 

"Good  luck,  daughter;  we've  got  risin' two  hun 
dred  lobsters."  That  was  all ;  fishermen  at  work  do 
not  talk  much. 

The  two  men  stretched  the  herring  net,  anchored  it 


120  MARY  CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

at  one  end,  and  rowed  a  few  rods  away  through  the 
phosphorescent  water  flashing  with  fish.  Of  a  sudden 
Jack  turned  the  dory  swiftly,  and  the  fish  were  driven 
like  sheep  into  the  net,  which,  when  they  struck  it, 
showed  a  long  line  of  dull  fire.  Then  the  draught  of 
fishes  was  pulled  in. 

"  Seems  to  me  we  fisher  folks  can  understand  the 
Master's  words  better  'n  most  people,  he  taught  so 
much  by  things  that  has  to  do  with  fishin',"  said  Cap 
tain  Cameron  meditatively,  as  he  walked  toward  home 
with  Mary  in  the  deepening  evening. 

So  one  peaceful  day  followed  another.  And  Mary 
felt  that  there  was  nothing  more  to  be  desired  on 
earth. 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  121 


CHAPTER   XI. 

"The  future  does  not  come  from  before  to  meet  us,  but 
comes  streaming  up  from  behind  over  our  heads." 

—  George  Eliot. 

A  LETTER  lay  on  the  table  for  Mary.  She  had 
just  come  in,  flushed  and  glowing,  from  hunt 
ing  over  the  island  with  her  father  in  search  of  the 
cows,  which  stayed  out  all  night  now  and  had  a  trick 
of  getting  lost.  Evidently  Sam  Merrill  had  been  to 
the  harbor. 

It  was  from  Mrs.  Sargent,  and  it  ran  :  — 

"  Dear  Miss  Cameron, — I  have  sad  news  for  you 
and  your  father.  Our  old  friend  Judge  Weston,  dear, 
genial  man,  died  last  week,  after  a  brief  illness.  I 
know  you  will  grieve  over  this  sorely,  as  we  do,  but 
you  must  try,  as  we  are  trying,  to  think  of  him  as 
blessedly  released,  for  he  suffered  intensely  during  his 
illness. 

' '  Mr.  Sargent  tells  me  there  is  something  in  the 
will,  just  a  remembrance,  which  concerns  you.  There 
are  the  usual  formalities  of  law — the  red  tape  has  to 
be  untied  and  tied  again,  and  it  will  help  matters 
greatly  if  you  are  on  the  spot.  I  have  intended  all 
winter  asking  you  here  for  a  visit,  and  now  this  settles 


122  MARY   CAMERON:    A   ROMANCE 

it ;  you  must  come  as  soon  as  possible,  for  a  month  at 
least,  and  take  more  than  a  side  glance  at  our  old  city 
of  Boston.  We  will  make  all  our  lions  roar  for  you, 
and  I  shall  enjoy  renewing  my  acquaintance  with 
streets  and  statues.  We  will  investigate  that  splendid 
Public  Library  and  study  the  famous  frescoes  and  the 
sweet  reasonableness  of  those  women  who  float  in 
mid-air  without  wings  or  feet  or  any  visible  means  of 
locomotion.  And  we  will  see  the  State  houses,  old 
and  new,  and  hear  a  suffrage  debate,  we  —  in  fact,  we 
will  have  you  see  and  hear  it  all.  —  Cradle  of  Liberty, 
Subway,  Bunker  Hill,  and  the  symphony  concert. 

"  I  shall  enjoy  a  visit  from  you,  and  be  benefited  by 
it,  too, — young,  strong,  and  full  of  savor  from  your 
island  home  as  you  are,  and  the  children  are  ready  to 
make  you  royally  welcome. 

Yours  very  cordially, 

MARGARET  K.  SARGENT. 
"  NEWTON,  April  23,  189-. 

"  P.  S.  Tell  me  what  day  you  will  come,  and  Mr. 
Sargent  will  meet  you  in  Boston." 

Hardly  had  Mary  finished  reading  her  letter  when 
Captain  Cameron  came  in  to  tell  her  the  news  of 
Judge  Weston's  death,  for  Sam  had  heard  it  in  Booth- 
bay  and  had  stopped  in  the  boathouse  to  tell  Jack. 

Death  had  no  fears   for  Captain  Cameron  ;  he  had 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  123 

faced  it  too  often,  and  now  it  was  to  him  but  the 
opening  of  a  door,  the  throwing  off  of  the  bodily 
cloak. 

The  father  had  trained  his  daughter  to  a  heritage  of 
his  brave  attitude,  but  her  sobs  would  rise.  The  old 
man  soothed  her. 

"  It's  only  the  pain  of  separation  that  is  hard, 
Mary.  The  judge  has  just  gone  over  that  river  where 
we  '11  all  have  to  cross  some  day  ;  but  there  's  a  sure 
pilot,  a  sure  pilot,  Mary,"  he  said,  smoothing  back 
her  bright  hair  with  his  knotted  hand.  Yet  his  own 
grief  was  greater,  for  this  was  a  tried  friend  of  his 
early  days  ;  and  he  was  haunted,  too,  by  the  appre 
hension  that  some  change  might  send  them  forth  from 
the  island  home,  which  had  been  to  him  like  a  fair 
haven  unto  a  weary  soul. 

Mrs.  Sargent's  invitation,  it  was  decided  in  family 
council,  must  be  accepted.  Aunt  Hetty's  interest  rose 
to  an  unprecedented  height.  "  I  'm  goin'  to  buy  you  a 
new  dress,  a  real  pretty  blue  one,  an'  a  hat  an'  some 
ribbons,"  she  said,  with  a  burst  of  generosity. 

It  required  all  of  Mary's  ingenuity  to  keep  Aunt 
Hetty  from  purchasing  the  dress,  and  to  make  her  con 
tent  with  the  quiet  hat  Mary  chose,  having  observed 


124  MART  CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

Miss  Kendall  and  Miss  Merrick  to  some  effect.  One 
journey  to  Boothbay  sufficed  for  the  preparations,  yet 
it  was  with  many  a  misgiving  that  Mary  packed  her 
limited  wardrobe  in  the  small  leather-covered  trunk 
which,  as  Aunt  Hetty  said,  "  Your  mother  went  on 
her  wedding  journey  with." 

Going  to  Boston  for  the  first  time  was  a  momen 
tous  event  to  Mary.  She  told  her  father  something  of 
her  clinging  regret  at  leaving  home,  as  they  sat  before 
the  driftwood  fire  for  a  good-night  talk,  her  trunk  all 
packed. 

"  I  should  n't  want  you  to  feel  any  other  way  but 
sorry  to  leave  your  old  father  ;  but  partings  has  to 
be.  Remember  always  there  's  One  who  orders  our 
goin's  an'  our  comin's,  an'  trust  yourself  in  his 
hands." 

Faith  in  the  divine  comes  often  to  our  hearts 
through  the  human,  and  Mary  rested  herself  ;n  her 
father's  words  that  night,  sleeping  soundly. 

But  the  old  man's  thoughts  ran  on  far  into  the  nigh't, 
and  their  tenor  was  this:  "My  little  daughter,  all  I 
have  in  the  world,  is  going  away.  Some  day,  soon,  I 
shall  be  drifting  out  on  the  ebb  tide,  and  what  will 
become  of  her?  Aunt  Hetty  isn't  the  one  to  satisfy 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  125 

her.  Dear  Lord,  send  my  boy  Edwin  home,"  he 
softly  prayed  again  and  again. 

There  was  no  time  to  spare  in  the  morning,  for 
Mary  must  leave  Boothbay  on  the  early  boat,  to  con 
nect  at  Bath  with  the  Boston-bound  train. 

As  Jack  helped  Mary  into  the  boat,  he  thrust  a  small 
box  into  her  hand.  "  Open  it  when  you  get  there," 
he  said,  wringing  her  hand  in  good-by. 

Aunt  Hetty  let  her  breakfast  dishes  stand  unwashed 
—  rare  event  —  and  sailed  over  to  the  harbor  "to  get 
some  cotton  cloth  for  sewing  these  long  afternoons," 
she  carefully  explained,  unwilling  to  acknowledge  that 
she  went  to  be  company  for  Captain  Cameron  coming 
back.  She  had  promised  Mary  manifold  times  to 
look  out  for  him. 

"If  I  was  goin'  to  Boston  I  sh'd  have  to  take  a 
compass  to  find  my  way  round,"  Captain  Cameron's 
last  words  came  in  a  cheerful  voice,  his  face  shining 
with  serenity. 

"  Be  sure  you  take  one  of  them  parlor  cars,"  was 
Aunt  Hetty's  final  injunction.  "  Folks  do  say  things 
ain't  so  likely  to  happen  to  you  there." 

It  was  a  tender,  tearful  face  that  looked  down  from 
the  Nahanada's  stem  as  the  steamboat  drew  away 


126  MARY   CAMERON:    A    ROMANCE 

from  the  wharf,  and  the  white  flutter  of  Mary's  hand 
kerchief  was  visible  until  the  boat  vanished  from  sight 
behind  Mouse  Island. 

The  intricacies  of  the  Bath  station  were  not  great, 
and  Mary  found  the  ride  in  the  comfortable  drawing- 
room  car  a  novel  experience,  increasing  in  interest. 
She  located  the  Bowdoin  College  buildings  when  the 
train  stopped  at  Brunswick.  Then  the  Flying  Yankee 
train  steamed  in  from  up  the  Kennebec,  and  bore  them 
off  to  Portland  like  a  flash.  On  the  way  to  Ports 
mouth  she  caught  bewitching  glimpses,  across  the 
marshes,  of  the  familiar  ocean,  —  which  took  her 
thoughts  swiftly  back  to  her  island  home,  —  and  soon 
the  train  drew  in  to  the  Northern  Union  Station. 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  127 


CHAPTER   XII. 

"  Music  is  love  in  search  of  a  word." 

"  The  age  needs  heart,  't  is  tired  of  head." 

—  Sidney  Lanier. 

IN  a  story  the  train  would  probably  have  run 
off  the  track,  or  Mr.  Sargent  failed  to  appear  at 
the  Boston  station.  But  in  real  life,  as  a  rule,  trains 
reach  their  destinations,  and  people  keep  their  ap 
pointments. 

The  tall,  brown-bearded  man  recognized  Mary  in  a 
moment,  as  the  passengers  streamed  from  the  inward 
train.  Almost  before  she  knew  it,  they  were  in  a  cab, 
the  trunk  strapped  on  behind,  and  whirling  across 
busy  Boston.  "Half  a  dollar  extra  if  you  make  the 
4.40  train  at  the  Albany  Station,"  Mr.  Sargent  said 
to  the  cabman. 

Nearly  every  man  on  the  Newton  train  was  buried 
behind  a  newspaper,  and  a  train  that  passed  them 
showed  a  blur  of  white  at  the  windows. 

"  Has  anything  special  happened?"  asked  Mary. 

"  No,  they  always  read,"  replied  Mr.  Sargent,  with 
an  amused  twinkle  in  his  eye. 


128  MARY  CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

"She's  a  restful,  natural  sort  of  girl,"  he  had  said 
to  himself,  while  she  was  describing  her  journey,  in 
her  clear,  low  voice  which  had  a  musical  turn,  "and 
she  is  dressed  all  right,  I  should  say,"-— man-fashion, 
noticing  general  effect,  —  "  Mrs.  Sargent  need  n't  have 
been  troubled  about  that." 

A  crowd  of  prosperous-looking  men  and  well- 
gowned  women  got  off  at  the  Newton  station,  and 
greetings  were  exchanged  as  one  carriage  after  an 
other  drove  away.  Mary  found  herself  with  Mr. 
Sargent  in  an  open,  green-cushioned  carriage,  drawn 
by  a  bay  horse  and  driven  by  a  coachman  in  green, 
bowling  noiselessly  past  handsome  houses  fronted  by 
close-cut  lawns. 

"There's  the  Eliot  Church,  and  there  is  Grace 
Church  and  the  new  Hunnewell  Clubhouse,"  said  Mr. 
Sargent,  pointing  out  the  places  of  interest ;  and 
presently  they  turned  into  the  driveway  which  wound 
up  to  the  Sargents'  house. 

A  white-capped,  white-aproned  maid  opened  the 
door,  and  little  Katharine  came  dancing  out — the 
same  sweet-faced  child  who  had  sat  on  Judge 
Weston's  knee  listening  to  fairy  stories  at  the  island 
meeting  two  years  before. 


OF  FISHERMAN^ S  ISLAND.  129 

Mrs.  Sargent  was  waiting  in  the  spacious  hall. 
"We  are  very  glad  to  see  you,  my  dear,"  she  said, 
with  a  warm  handshake ;  and  she  liked  the  firm 
grasp  of  Mary's  hand.  "  You  must  consider  yourself 
one  of  the  family  while  you  are  here." 

Mary  felt  an  added  sense  of  cordial  welcome  when 
the  tall  clock  in  the  hall  struck  the  half  hour  in  the 
same  drowsy  tone  of  the  old  clock  at  home.  But 
despite  her  level  young  head,  she  was  glad  to  escape 
early  to  her  room  that  night,  for  the  long  elaborate 
dinner,  the  brilliant  lights,  the  opening  world  of  new 
interests,  were  bewildering.  Just  before  she  went  to 
bed  she  thought  of  Jack's  gift,  and  opening  the  little 
box,  found  ten  tightly  folded  five  dollar  bills  and, 
written  on  a  slip  of  paper,  "  Please  get  things  for 
yourself  with  it." 

Thursday,  the  day  after  her  arrival,  Mary  had  gone 
to  Boston  with  Mrs.  Sargent,  and  spent  some  of 
Jack's  money  under  the  older  woman's  supervision. 
To-day  they  had  lunched  in  town,  and  now  Mrs.  Sar 
gent  had  left  Mary  in  her  own  seat,  in  Music  Hall,  to 
hear  the  Friday  afternoon  symphony  rehearsal. 

Waiting  for  the  music  to  begin,  Mary  eagerly 
watched  the  people,  as  from  the  balcony  where  she 


130  MAttV    CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

sat  she  hud  her  first  vision  of  a  sea  of  faces  ;  and  she 
idly  wondered  how  many  times  the  little  house  on 
Fisherman's  Island  could  be  set  down  within  the 
hall  —  which  seemed  immensely  large  to  her,  though 
she  was  getting  used  to  vastness  now  in  the  way  of 
buildings. 

There  came  a  momentary  hush,  followed  by  the  short 
adagio  movement  of  a  famous  symphony.  At  first 
the  music  simply  formed  a  background  for  her 
thoughts,  as  they  traveled  back  and  forth,  between 
old  scenes  and  new.  Gradually  the  swelling  melody 
took  possession  of  her,  and  her  soul  went  forth  on  its 
waves,  buoyant,  bending  with  every  curve  of  the 
melody,  which  seemed  to  round  and  fill  out  her  nature, 
to  fathom  all  the  abysses  of  her  soul.  In  places  it 
was  as  though  little  children  were  being  rocked  to 
sleep ;  again,  the  subdued  tones  seemed  to  shadow 
forth  the  passing  of  souls,  then  gladder  sounds  brought 
a  vision  of  noble  men  and  women  in  stately  forests, 
where  life  seemed  strong,  and  wise,  and  beautiful. 

How  the  violins  struggled  for  human  utterance,  as 
they  led  the  great  harmony,  seeking,  almost  finding 
words  ! 

Then  on  the  bosom  of  soft,  slow  cadences  she  felt 


OF  FISH  Eli  MAN'S  ISLAND.  131 

herself  being  borne  over  the  smooth  waves  of  the  sea, 
and  with  gladness  nearing  home.  But  the  melody 
grew  deeper,  and  suddenly  saddened.  Following, 
drawn  along  irresistibly,  she  trembled  with  emotion. 
Once  the  despair  made  her  soul  ache  with  dumb  an 
guish,  and  the  hall  was  blurred  before  her  eyes  ;  she 
almost  cried  aloud,  "Oh,  stop,  stop!  I  cannot  bear 
it!" 

Turning,  the  melody  took  her  as  if  out  on  a  wild, 
stormy  sea ;  she  could  hear  the  breakers  moaning  as 
they  tumbled  on  the  reefs,  she  could  feel  the  dark 
ness.  But  clear,  glad,  calm  trumpet  calls  brought 
relief  —  the  tumult  quieted,  the  waves  were  still;  it 
was  as  though  all  the  sounds  of  the  sea  and  the  winds, 
sweet  and  sad,  were  mingled  and  made  into  one 
melody,  and  she  was  wafted  again  toward  home, 
which  lay  in  the  golden,  hazy  distance.  Then  the 
music  died  away  and  left  her  with  a  great  peace  — 
but  with  a  heartache,  too,  because  it  was  more  beauti 
ful  than  the  world. 

While  the  people  crowded  out,  she  sat  waiting  for 
Mr.  Sargent.  Her  rested,  roused  soul  shone  in  her 
eyes  as  she  looked  up  at  the  sound  of  an  unfamiliar 
voice  near  her  which  was  saying  :  — 


132  MARY  CAMERON:   A  ROMANCE 

"  It  was  like  the  sea,  wasn't  it?  " 

"Mr.  Loring !  "  she  exclaimed,  rising  to  shake 
hands  with  him. 

John  Loring,  from  Ids  seav,  in  the  balcony  diagonally 
opposite,  had  readily  identified  Mary.  He  had  noticed 
every  slightest  quiver  of  the  sensitive  frame,  every 
phase  of  changing  emotion  on  the  open  face,  as  her 
soul  was  being  played  upon  by  the  inexorable,  inex 
plicable  power  of  music. 

"Mrs.  Sargent  told  me  yon  were  to  visit  her,  so  I 
was  n't  at  all  surprised  to  see  you  here  in  her  place, 
though  I  should  have  recognized  you  anywhere,"  he 
said.  "  You  are  waiting  for  somebody  ;  do  be  seated 
again." 

"  Mr.  Sargent  is  coming  for  me ;  Mrs.  Sargent 
does  n't  trust  me  to  find  my  way  alone,"  she  answered, 
looking  at  him  with  a  touch  of  merriment. 

"May  I  wait  with  you?"  He  seated  himself  in 
front  without  waiting  for  an  answer. 

"Why  did  the  music  make  you  think  of  the  sea?" 
she  asked,  after  she  had  answered  his  courteous  in 
quiries  about  her  father.  Her  glance  was  frank  and 
interested,  and  her  red  mouth  had  a  happy  trick  of 
smiling. 


OF  FISHERMAN 'S  ISLAND.  133 

"You  know,  don't  you,  that  people  who  have  lived 
by  the  sea,  and  loved  it,  have  a  two-stringed  harp  in 
their  souls,  and  the  sea-string  always  vibrates  when  it 
is  touched,  whether  they  will  or  not,"  he  answered 
simply. 

"Hello,  John,  so  you've  found  Miss  Cameron." 
Mr.  Sargent  appeared  in  the  doorway  behind  them. 

"Yes,  and  I  am  glad  to  renew  the  acquaintance," 
said  Mr.  Loring.  "I  suppose  you  are  going  out  on 
the  next  train,  so  I  '11  walk  across  the  Common  with 
you,  for  I  want  to  talk  over  that  C.  B.  &  Q.  stock." 

Mary  walked  between  the  two  men,  walked  so  well 
and  looked  so  beautiful  that  half  the  people  they  met 
turned  for  a  second  look  at  her,  of  which  she  was 
wholly  unconscious,  for  her  eyes  were  drinking  in  the 
beauty  of  the  afternoon,  the  stir  of  the  street  life, 
the  green  of  the  Public  Garden,  and  the  stateliness  of 
the  towering  buildings. 

Mr.  Loring  excused  himself  at  the  Columbus  Av 
enue  station,  saying,  "  I  have  to  go  back  down  town." 

"  You  will  be  around  to  see  us  Monday  evening,  I 
hope,"  said  Mr.  Sargent,  as  Mr.  Loring  shook  hands 
with  them  botli  —  unnecessarily,  Mr.  Sargent  thought, 
but  then,  John  was  inclined  to  be  ceremonious. 


134  MARY  CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

Mrs.  Sargent  was  always  at  home  Mondays,  in  the 
afternoons  formally  to  the  world,  in  the  evenings 
informally  to  a  few  friends,  who  dropped  in  to  talk, 
read,  or  have  a  rarebit.  The  Merricks,  being  next- 
door  neighbors  and  old  friends,  were  wont  to  come 
for  the  evenings,  as  was  also  John  Loring. 

"  Hopelessly  rich,"  men  characterized  Mr.  Loring. 
This  was  true  —  with  a  margin  —  of  his  material  pos 
sessions  ;  but  his  home  life  was  meager,  for  he  lived 
in  a  great,  old-fashioned  house  alone  with  his  mother, 
a  woman  of  uudeviating  ways,  who  seldom  left  home. 

"  You  always  wake  me  up  here,"  he  said  once  to 
Mrs.  Sargent,  half  apologizing  for  his  frequent  visits. 

"  Come  whenever  you  feel  like  it,"  she  answered; 
"our  latchstriug  is  always  out  to  you." 

She  was  a  rare  type  of  woman.  The  repose,  the 
self-reliance  and  command  of  herself,  the  receptive 
spirit  that  showed  itself  so  quickly  to  every  person 
she  met,  proved  her  a  woman  of  power  and  resource  ; 
added  to  these  gracious  qualities  were  a  keen  intellect 
and  a  warm  heart.  Mr.  Sargent  was  a  lawyer  in 
good  practice,  a  widely-read,  widely-traveled  man, 
with  a  keen  sense  of  humor  and  a  fund  of  anecdotes 
which  he  related  extremely  well. 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  135 

They  talked  about  live  subjects  on  those  at-home 
evenings.  To-night  the  conversation  turned  on  the 
New  England  temperament.  Mrs.  Sargent  was  a 
Southerner  by  birth,  and  she  had  never  become  quite 
acclimated  here. 

"  This  New  Englandism  is  a  thing  apart  by  itself," 
she  declared,  "and  Boston  seems  to  me  a  kind  of 
national  cold  storage,  which  chills  all  its  neighbor 
hood.  I  don't  go  as  far  as  some  critics  who  say 
Boston  people  are  a  lot  of  bloodless  men  and  un- 
maternal  women,  good  pioneers,  but  icebergs  in  their 
homes  ;  but  I  do  think  they  would  be  more  satisfactory 
if  they  were  warmer-mannered  and  more  self-forget 
ful." 

"  You  must  remember  we  have  our  traditions  to 
keep  up,"  said  Mrs.  Merrick,  —  she  was  a  Colonial 
Dame  and  a  Daughter  of  the  Revolution, — "we 
simply  can't  be  effusive,  it 's  such  wretchedly  bad 
form." 

Mr.  Sargent  took  up  the  question.  "Sentiment 
aside,  see  what  New  England  has  accomplished  !  The 
fact  is,  the  very  motive-spring  here  is  and  always 
has  been  energy." 

"Yes,  energy,  passionate  energy,"  put  in  Mr.  Lor- 


136  MARY   CAMERON:  A   ROMANCE 

ing.  "  What  else  can  you  call  the  great  force  that 
has  moved  this  little  handful  of  stout-hearted  people 
for  a  century,  in  the  van  of  the  nation?  It  has  been 
more  than  clear  intellect  and  strong  will  which  have 
kept  them  at  the  head  :  it  has  been  burning  zeal,  for 
reform,  and  liberty,  and  beauty,  too,  —  zeal  untrained, 
unsatisfied,  I  admit,  but  alive  with  intense  eagerness. 
It's  the  fighting  passion  of  men  ready  to  be  cut  to 
pieces  for  an  idea,  most  of  all,  the  passion  for  knowl 
edge  and  insight  into  things,  material  and  spiritual." 

Mary,  listening,  observed  Mr.  Loriug  closely.  This 
was  a  man  who  lived  right  in  the  midst  of  the  mystery 
of  life. 

He  was  tall,  broad-shouldered,  well-built,  well-pro 
portioned,  a  man  much  given  to  outdoor  life  one  could 
see  at  a  glance,  though  traces  of  indoor  occupation 
showed  in  his  face,  in  the  dark  hair  thinning  at  the 
temples,  and  the  marks  of  care  across  the  high 
forehead.  There  were  good-humored  lines  around  his 
mouth,  which  had  fine,  firm  curves.  His  face,  clean 
shaven  except  for  a  black  moustache,  was  almost 
stern  in  repose,  and  showed  strong  determination,  yet 
with  a  distinct  touch  of  gentleness.  His  eyes  were 
blue-gray,  more  gray  than  blue,  and  they  darkened 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  137 

almost  to  black  when  he  was,  as  now,  roused  to  deep 
feeling.  They  were  notable  eyes  from  their  expres 
sion  ;  the  meaning  of  the  whole  face  seemed  to  deepen 
in  them  almost  to  speech. 

The  good-humored  lines  around  his  mouth  showed, 
as  he  stopped  for  a  moment,  saying,  ''Purpose,  re 
sponsibility,  you  know,  are  my  hobbies."  Then  he 
continued  :  "  The  most  satisfied  heart  among  us  has 
to  keep  on  working.  "We  don't  wear  our  hearts  on 
our  sleeves,  but  it 's  a  great  mistake  to  think  our  lack 
of  expression  means  want  of  heart.  If  you  only 
probe  beneath  the  surface,  you  will  unmistakably 
find  the  New  England  heart  warm  and  deep  in  its  per 
sonal  relations.  1  know  whereof  I  speak,  for  I  am  to 
the  manner  born." 

"  You  are  a  New  Englander  of  New  Englanders, 
and  cherish  your  limitations,"  said  Mrs.  Sargent,  — 
her  frankness  was  one  thing  that  attracted  people  to 
her;  "but  here  you  can  live  so  hopelessly  near  to 
people  without  ever  knowing  what  goes  on  in  their 
hearts.  And  you  are  so  afraid  of  showing  any  feel 
ing.  It 's  in  the  air.  Why,  this  very  afternoon  my 
little  five-year-old  Katharine  was  telling  me  the  story 
of  Moses  and  the  bulrushes,  which  somebody  had 


138  MART  CAMERON:    A    ROMANCE 

told  her,  and  when  she  came  to  the  part  about  their 
finding  the  baby,  she  almost  cried  ;  then  she  turned 
away,  laughed,  and  said,  l  It  was  awfully  funny.'  " 

"  The  fact  is,"  said  Mr.  Sargent,  "  we  all  take  our 
selves  too  seriously,  and  we  load  ourselves  down  with 
the  woes  of  other  people.  Bear  your  own  burdens 
first ;  after  that,  try  to  help  others  if  you  can." 

"  Yes,"  Mrs.  Merrick  admitted,  "women  are  more 
unreasonable  in  this  respect  than  men." 

"  Look  at  the  average  women  one  meets  in  society, 
at  lectures,  the  theater,  or  on  the  streets !  "  continued 
Mr.  Sargent;  "their  general  expression  of  misery 
and  the  lines  that  furrow  their  faces  show  that  they 
take  even  their  pleasures  sadly  —  as  the  Frenchman 
said.  The}7  study  every  art  but  the  greatest  of  all, 
the  art  of  being  happy.  If  a  whole  generation  of 
New  England  women  could  be  born  without  con 
sciences,  it  would  be  a  blessing  to  their  friends  and 
a  boon  to  their  good  looks.  As  matters  are  now, 
anything  will  serve  for  a  really  good,  upright,  self- 
sacrificing  New  England  woman  to  borrow  responsi 
bility  upon.  But  Miss  Cameron  looks  as  though  she 
had  sunk  all  her  worries  and  responsibilities  to  the 
bottom  of  the  sea." 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  139 

Mary  colored,  as  their  eyes  were  turned  to  her. 
"Mine  are  different  from  yours,"  she  said;  "every 
body  here  seems  to  have  so  much  to  do  that  I  don't 
see  how  they  find  time  for  it  all." 

"  We  don't,  that 's  just  it,"  said  Mrs.  Sargent. 

"But  we  have  responsibilities  thrust  upon  us." 
Miss  Merrick  had  been  silent  before.  "  Here  mamma 

is  trying  to  have  me  put  on  as  a  director  in  the  

Convalescent  Home,  when  I  am  simply  staggering 
under  clubs  and  societies  and  teas  and  keeping  up 
generally." 

Mrs.  Merrick  smiled  complacently.  "  You  are 
equal  to  it  all,"  she  said.  She  liked  to  have  Mr. 
Loring  know  how  capable  this  daughter  of  hers  was. 
"  Come,  we  must  begin  reading  before  we  grow  any 
more  personal,"  she  added  ;  "  I  have  brought  a  new 
book."  And  the  rest  of  the  evening  was  spent  over 
the  essays  of  a  recent  author,  whose  touch  of  roman 
ticism  had  been  welcomed  as  a  relief  from  too  much 
realism. 

To  Mary,  listening  rather  than  taking  part,  the 
whole  evening  seemed  like  a  living  chapter  out  of  a 
book,  —  the  handsomely  furnished  library,  the  charm 
ing  gowns  of  the  women,  the  sense  of  congenial  en- 


140  MART  CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

joyment  brought  out  by  the  conversation  and  the 
reading.  She  was  listening,  however,  with  unmistak 
able  appreciation,  as  John  Loring  saw  —  this  tall 
young  woman,  with  those  singularly  splendid  eyes 
looking  out  from  beneath  waving  brown  hair. 

When  Mr.  Loring  rose  to  go,  after  the  Merricks  had 
made  a  start,  he  said,  "  I  believe  Rob  "NVeston  is  com 
ing  home  on  the  Campagnia  next  week."  His  eyes 
were  on  Mary  as  he  spoke,  and  to  his  surprise  he  saw 
a  crimson  color  surge  over  her  transparent  face. 

"Poor  fellow,"  Mrs.  Sargent  was  saying,  "we 
must  all  be  good  to  him  for  dear  Judge  Western's 
sake." 

The  Sargents  had  three  children  —  two  sons,  fourteen 
and  twelve  years  old,  and  little  Katharine.  "  I  fairly 
have  to  keep  the  children  away  from  Miss  Cameron," 
Mrs.  Sargent  told  her  husband  ;  "  they  tease  her  so 
persistently  for  stories  about  ships  and  wrecks  and 
the  sea."  It  was  an  orderly  household,  seeming  to 
run  of  itself  ;  but  behind  the  scenes  Mrs.  Sargent's  sure 
hand  was  on  the  helm.  Mary  reveled  and  expanded 
in  the  harmonious  atmosphere,  and  she  awoke  grad 
ually  to  a  realization  of  the  many  opportunities  which 
lie  within  reach  of  privileged  woman  in  this  Boston 


OF  FISHERMAN^1  ISLAND.  141 

world.  She  heard  good  music,  drove,  met  Mrs.  Sar 
gent's  friends,  went  to  afternoon  teas, — these  she 
enjoyed  least  of  all,  — learned  to  play  golf,  and  noth 
ing  escaped  her  alert  attention. 

Thus  she  was  introduced  to  the  life  of  a  society 
girl,  and  knew  for  the  first  time  what  it  was  to  get  up 
in  the  morning  with  no  imperative  necessity  for  doing 
one  thing  more  than  another.  Social  life,  with  the 
new  sense  of  leisure  and  unchecked  enjoyment,  could 
hardly  be  without  some  directly  stimulating  effect 
upon  her.  Yet  her  companionship  with  nature  and 
her  hold  on  the  great  mysteries  of  life,  her  clear 
sanity  of  mind,  as  they  had  guarded  her  against  the 
perils  of  seclusion,  now  kept  her  from  being  hurt  by 
the  sudden  glimpse  of  the  world. 

Mrs.  Sargent's  guest  speedily  became  a  topic  of 
discussion.  She  was  never  uninteresting  ;  Mrs.  Sar 
gent  took  care  that  she  was  suitably  dressed,  and  she 
was  so  wholly  without  affectation  or  conceit  that  she 
won  much  admiration.  Even  Mrs.  Merrick  said  ot 
her,  "  She  is  fortunately  possessed  with  the  faculty  of 
manners  and  making  friends." 

Miss  Merrick  had  welcomed  Mary  with  a  great  show 
of  cordiality,  and  when  Mary  with  scant  civility  in- 


142  MARY  CAMERON:   A  ROMANCE 

quired  for  Miss  Kendall,  Miss  Merrick  said  she  was 
to  be  abroad  a  year,  and  added  :  "  She  must  have  seen 
Mr.  Weston  often,  because  she  writes  so  much  about 
him.  You  will  enjoy  meeting  him  again,  I  know." 
She  did  not  succeed  in  evoking  any  consciousness 
from  Mary. 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  143 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

"Living  will  teach  you  how  to  live  better  than  preacher 
or  book." —  Goethe. 

T^rylTH  Mrs.  Sargent,  Mary  saw  Boston's  art 
V  V  collections  and  churches  and  visited  its  his 
toric  places  — old  as  we  count  age  in  this  new  world. 

"  How  I  should  enjoy  taking  her  to  Europe  !  "  Mrs. 
Sargent  confided  to  John  Loring.  "•  It  is  positively 
refreshing  to  come  in  contact  with  her  enthusiasm, 
and  her  good  sense  amounts  almost  to  genius.  Now, 
some  day,  for  the  sake  of  teaching  her  to  be  properly 
thankful,  you  may  show  her  how  the  other  half  lives." 

Accordingly,  early  one  morning,  Mary  went  to 
Boston  with  Mr.  Loring,  who  spent  a  part  of  each 
day  as  social  worker  in  connection  with  a  well-known 
social  settlement  at  the  South  End.  "  Perhaps  I 
ought  to  have  gone  with  them,"  Mrs.  Sargent  said  to 
her  husband,  as  he  was  starting  for  town  on  a  later 
train;  "  but,  no,  it  won't  do  any  harm  to  give  their, 
a  chance  to'get  better  acquainted.  I  wonder  if  John 
realizes  he  has  been  here  every  other  evening  this 
week,  on  some  pretext  or  other?  And  he  's  taken  her 


144  MARY  CAMEEOX:   A   BOMANCE 

twice  to  the  Brae  Burn  links,  and  once  to  the  Country 
Club,  for  golf." 

"  Help  them  along,  that 's  right ;  I  used  to  be  glad 
enough  of  a  good  turn,"  said  Mr.  Sargent.  He  re 
membered  that  a  woman,  though  she  has  been  married 
many  years,  likes  a  touch  of  gallantry.  "But  I 
wonder  you  women  don't  oftener  run  aground  when 
it  comes  to  steering  the  affairs  of  perverse  young 
people." 

It  was  but  a  short  distance  from  the  Albany  Station 
in  Boston  to  the  settlement.  Mary  waited  in  the  re 
ception  room,  while  Mr.  Loriug  looked  after  a  few 
matters  of  business  ;  then  he  rejoined  her.  First  he 
took  her  over  the  house,  showing  her  the  large  living- 
room,  homelike  with  its  pictures,  its  books,  nigs,  and 
comfortable  furniture,  the  class-rooms  upstairs,  the 
boys'  workroom,  and  the  gymnasium.  "  Some  day 
I  shall  come  here  to  live."  he  said,  "  for  a  part  of 
each  year  at  least,  but  never  during  my  dear  mother's 
life." 

"  Have  you  steady  nerves?"  he  asked,  as  he  opened 
the  hall  door.  "We  are  going  to  make  'neighbor 
hood  visits,'  as  the  settlement  people  call  them,  and 
we  may  encounter  some  trying  scenes." 


OF  FISHERMAN11 8  ISLAND.  145 

"  I  can  hold  on  to  my  nerves,  at  least  while  I  am 
going  through  things,"  she  answered,  glancing  up  at 
him  with  a  frank  smile.  He  stood  nearly  six  feet  tall, 
and  there  was  something  reassuring  about  his  broad 
shoulders. 

"  That  is  a  great  virtue  in  woman,  and  I  might  have 
known  you  had  it,"  he  replied,  looking  down  at  her 
with  a  stir  of  admiration  as  she  stood  in  the  sun 
light,  waiting,  with  a  happy,  untroubled  face,  her  hair 
gleaming,  her  complexion  exquisitely  fresh,  and  her 
air  of  unconsciousness. 

Their  first  call  was  at  a  shabby  little  home,  in  a 
tenement  over  a  stable.  By  the  couch  of  a  patient- 
faced  girl  —  ill  with  hip  disease  and  so  small  Mary 
could  hardly  believe  she  was  ten  years  old  —  stood  a 
table  covered  with  a  soiled  red  and  white  checked 
cloth,  and  set  with  an  uninviting  breakfast  of  crackers, 
a  bit  of  butter,  and  a  cu-p  of  tea.  ''Will  you  wait 
while  I  go  and  buy  something  more  appetizing?" 
asked  Mr.  Loring.  He  seemed  a  different  man  now  ; 
he  was  quicker,  more  animated,  and  his  eyes  held  a 
luminous  look,  for  a  great  sympathy  was  his.  In  a 
few  moments  he  returned  with  a  jug  of  milk,  a  loaf 
of  bread,  and  some  eggs  for  the  mother  to  cook. 


146  MARY  CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

"  My  man  lias  a  job  to-day,  the  first  in  three  weeks," 
the  woman  told  him,  her  face  beaming. 

Mary,  meanwhile,  had  made  the  acquaintance  of 
the  little  girl,  who,  with  the  trustfulness  of  childhood, 
had  put  her  thin  hand  in  Mary's  warm  clasp.  But 
Mr.  Loriug  was  the  older  friend,  and  when  he  came 
back  the  child  gave  her  hand  to  him,  and  a  happy 
smile  stole  over  her  face  as  he  stroked  back  the  light, 
golden  hair  from  her  forehead.  There  seemed  some 
thing  homelike  to  Mary  about  the  action  ;  in  a  moment 
she  remembered  it  was  her  father's  way. 

At  the  next  place  they  visited,  an  old  mother  was 
caring  for  her  son,  a  laboring  man  half  sick  with  a 
malarial,  rheumatic  trouble,  half  frenzied,  too,  with 
grievances,  real  or  fancied,  against  the  rich,  and 
waxing  so  violent  over  the  subject  that  Mr.  Loring 
deemed  it  best  to  leave  after  a  few  moments,  his 
errand  accomplished. 

"  How  do  people  live  in  such  dingy,  stuffy  places  ! " 
exclaimed  Mary,  drawing  a  long  breath,  when  they 
were  outside. 

"  That  is  an  unsettled  problem,"  Mr.  Loring  an 
swered.  "You  can  hardly  call  it  living,  it  is  only 
existing.  But  we  are  working  hard  for  better  tene- 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  147 

nient  conditions.  Our  main  hope  to-day,  though,  is 
for  the  children  ;  if  we  save  them,  we  save  the  nation 
to-morrow." 

"•  Can  you  go  to  one  other  place,"  he  asked  after  a 
moment's  pause,  "  even  more  wretched?" 

"  Yes ;  but,  oh,  how  all  this  misery  makes  one's 
heart  ache  !  "  She  had  been  thinking  about  the  little 
girl  incurably  ill.  "  I  should  think  helping  this  suffer 
ing  would  make  people  forget  themselves  and  their 
own  uuhappiness,"  she  said  wistfully. 

"Do  you  know  anything  about  unhappiness?  "  he 
asked  when  he  was  by  her  side  again.  They  were 
making  their  way  along  a  crowded  street,  filled  with 
fruit  venders,  swarthy-faced  Jews,  scurrying  China 
men,  and  urchins  of  every  age.  It  was  a  directly 
personal  question,  he  realized. 

"  I  could  n't  have  lived  as  I  have,  without  knowing," 
she  answered,  thinking  of  the  winter  storms  and 
loneliness,  of  Jack's  wasting  illness,  of  the  island 
isolation  —  but  not  of  Rob  Weston  now. 

Mr.  Loring  felt  the  sadness  in  her  voice.  "It's 
the  lot  of  us  all,  no  matter  where  we  are,"  he  answered 
gently  ;  "  but  sometimes  our  best  happiness  grows  out 
of  our  sorrow." 


148  MARY   CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

"  Here  we  are  !  "  he  exclaimed,  as  he  led  the  way 
into  a  dark  little  entry.  "  The  man  we  are  going  to 
see  is  a  German  Jew,  and  he  has  only  been  in  this 
country  six  months.  He  was  n't  well  to  begin  with, 
and  work  in  a  sweat  shop  has  about  finished  him  ;  he 
is  dying  of  consumption  now.  It 's  up  four  flights,  so 
take  plenty  of  time." 

There  were  two  small  rooms,  kitchen  and  bedroom, 
in  the  garret  tenement,  stifling  with  the  hot  May  sun. 
In  the  kitchen  three  children,  mere  babies,  were  play 
ing  on  the  floor,  and  the  worn  little  mother  was  bend 
ing  almost  double  over  some  rough  sewing.  She  wel 
comed  Mr.  Loring  timidly,  in  broken  English. 

Within  the  bedroom  —  where  there  was  a  strange, 
expectant  hush  —  on  a  cot  bed,  his  head  propped  with 
pillows,  lay  an  emaciated  man,  who  turned  his  burn 
ing  eyes  to  Mr.  Loriug  like  a  hungry,  hurt  dog.  He 
tried  to  speak,  but  the  words  died  in  his  throat. 

Mr.  Loring  took  an  orange  from  a  bag  on  the  table, 
cut  it  open,  and  began  feeding  it  to  the  man, 
awkwardly. 

"  Let  me  do  that !  "  Mary  had  her  gloves  off,  and 
was  by  the  bedside  with  a  plate  and  spoon  which  she 
took  from  the  table.  She  gave  the  man  spoonful 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  149 

after  spoonful  of  the  orange  juice,  as  a  woman  would 
feed  a  child  ;  then,  putting  one  arm  firmly  around  his 
shoulders,  she  turned  the  pillows,  and  let  the  tired 
head  sink  back  again. 

"  Tank  you  !  tank  you  !  "  the  sick  man  gasped,  his 
deep-set  eyes  fixed  on  Mary.  Then  lie  looked 
toward  Mr.  Loriug,  who  was  standing  at  the  foot  of 
the  bed.  "  Iz  zee  your  wife?  "  he  whispered. 

Mr.  Loring  shook  his  head  hurriedly.  He  could  see 
no  trace  of  consciousness  in  Mary's  face,  except  that 
the  color  deserted  it. 

The  sick  man  closed  his  eyes.  "  We  would  better 
go  now,"  said  Mr.  Loring  softly,  and  Mary  followed 
him  into  the  kitchen.  He  left  a  few  instructions  with 
some  money,  and  the  woman  broke  into  sobs:  "  De 
doctor  say  he  not  last  long." 

"Have  they  any  money?"  asked  Mary,  when  the 
two  were  down  in  the  entry -way  again. 

"Only  what  is  given  them,"  he  answered  abruptly, 
"  and  this  is  but  one  of  hundreds  of  cases." 

"  How  can  God  let  such  things  be  !  "  she  exclaimed 
passionately. 

Mr.  Loriug  met  her  protest  with  silence,  but  his 
heart  smote  him  when  they  were  out  in  the  daylight 


150  MARY   CAMERON:    A   ROMANCE 

again,  and  he  saw  the  anguish  of  pity  on  her  face.  A 
swift  recollection  came  to  him  :  it  was  this  pity,  this 
sympathy,  of  which  he  had  dreamed. 

Half  to  himself,  half  to  the  woman  now  at  his  side, 
he  said,  "  If  each  of  us  bore  the  burden  of  helping 
those  in  need,  whose  lives  touch  our  own,  it  would  go 
a  long  way  toward  solving  the  problem.  The  world  is 
waking  up  at  last  to  the  truth  that  humanity  is  greater 
than  temples  and  all  the  theories  taught  in  temples." 
Then  he  said,  contritely,  for  her  face  was  still  pity 
ingly  set,  "  I  ought  n't  to  have  brought  you  to  this  last 
place  —  though  I  had  to  come  myself  this  morning." 

"I  am  glad  you  did,"  she  said,  turning  her  shining 
eyes  to  him. 

"  This  is  enough  for  to-day,  I  am  sure;  "  he  spoke 
very  gently.  "•  Now  I  will  take  you  to  Mr.  Sargent's 
office  to  settle  that  long  delayed  business." 

Mr.  Sargent's  law  office,  on  School  Street,  was 
musty  with  books  and  papers.  Two  long  papers, 
ready  for  signature,  lay  open  on  a  table  beside  the 
desk,  and  Mr.  Sargent  gave  the  brief  explanation,  — 
that  Judge  Weston  had  left  his  five  shares  of  stock, 
representing  half  of  the  island  property,  to  Mary,  and 
had  expressed  the  wish  that  the  entire  island  might 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  151 

come  into  her  possession  some  day  ;  and  thereupon  the 
other  owners  had  agreed  to  make  over  their  shares 
to  her,  for  they  felt  that  future  visits  to  the  island 
would  mean  nothing  without  Judge  Western's  presence. 
Here  was  the  letter,  signed  by  them  all. 

"  Is  it  mine?  Am  I  to  own  the  island?"  Bewil 
dered,  Mary  looked  from  one  man  to  the  other. 
"  Judge  Weston  and  the  owners  have  given  it  to  me? 
Then  we  need  n't  ever  go  away  !  " 

John  Loring  turned  and  stared  out  of  the  window. 
Mr.  Sargent  drew  up  a  chair  for  Mary,  and  busied 
himself  with  pens  and  ink.  u  I  could  hardly  help  tell 
ing  her  that  John  had  bought  those  shares  in  from  the 
other  owners,"  he  confided  to  his  wife  afterwards. 

"  There,  Miss  Cameron,  please  sign  your  name  here. 
Read  the  paper  first,  though  ;  a  woman  should  n't  ever 
sign  anything  without  doing  that.  Now,  John,  you 
witness  the  signature." 

The  ink  was  thick  and  black,  and  the  two  signatures 
on  each  paper  seemed  to  stare  up  at  Mary. 

"  I  shall  have  to  ask  you  to  take  Miss  Cameron  to 
the  station,"  said  Mr.  Sargent,  folding  the  long  docu 
ments,  "  for  1  have  an  immediate  engagement.  You 
have  just  about  time  enough  to  get  the  12.10  train." 


152  MARY  CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

Tremont  Street  was  crowded  as  they  went  along 
toward  the  Common.  They  did  not  talk  much,  even 
when  they  emerged  into  the  greater  freedom  of  the 
Common,  but  there  was  a  restful  sense  of  understand 
ing  between  them. 

"  Do  all  Boston  women  carry  bags?  "  Mary  asked 
once  ;  she  had  counted  thirty  in  the  crowd  passing  one 
block. 

As  they  walked  under  the  tall  elms  toward  Park 
Square,  John  Loring  was  thinking,  half-uncousciously, 
of  the  school-mistress  and  that  long  walk  which  the 
Autocrat  wrote  about.  Mary,  while  noticing  the  old 
men  and  little  boys  along  the  side  paths,  was  puzzling 
over  something  in  the  background  of  her  thoughts. 

Mr.  Loring  left  her  at  the  station,  explaining  that 
he  must  go  back  to  the  settlement.  On  the  way  out  to 
Newton  a  light  broke  upon  Mary's  mind,  and  at  lunch 
eon  that  noon,  after  they  had  talked  over  the  island 
ownership  and  all  it  meant,  Mary  said  to  Mrs.  Sargent, 
"  It  was  n't  you  who  sent  the  papers  and  books  to  me 
all  the  year,  was  it?  " 

"  What  makes  you  think  not?  "  asked  Mrs.  Sargent, 
fencing  a  little. 

"  Because  the  writing  on    the  wrapping-paper    was 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  153 

the  same  as  Mr.  Loring's  when  he  signed  the  deeds," 
answered  Mary,  directly.  "  Did  he  send  everything?  " 

"  Yes,"  acknowledged  Mrs.  Sargent,  cornered.  She 
expected  Mary  to  pursue  the  subject,  but  Mary  re 
mained  silent,  an  inscrutable  expression  in  her  eyes. 
So  Mrs.  Sargent  went  on,  after  a  moment:  "  I  read 
your  letters  to  him,  and  he  really  had  your  thanks." 

Another  pause  ;  then  she  continued  :  ' '  There  are 
many  interesting  things  about  John  Loring.  His 
father  was  a  banker,  a  very  wealthy  man,  and  until 
he  died,  about  five  years  ago,  John,  who  was  the  only 
child,  was  with  him  in  the  Boston  office.  John  keeps 
the  office  now,  and  has  a  clerk  there  to  look  after  his 
property,  but  he  gets  out  of  business  more  and  more, 
and  just  gives  himself  up  to  social  reform  work.  He 
comes  pretty  near  to  being  a  saint  —  or  a  martyr  —  in 
his  relations  with  his  mother,  for  she  is  an  exacting,  no 
tional  woman,  not  very  well,  and  naturally  devoted  to 
him.  Years  ago,  —  let  me  see,  we  came  to  Newton 
seven  years  ago,  and  it  was  about  then,  — John  had 
some  great  disappointment  over  a  girl  who  must  have 
played  fast  and  loose  with  him,  for  as  the  story  has 
been  told  me,  they  were  engaged  a  year,  when  she 
suddenly  married  another  man  supposed  to  be 


154  MARY  CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

richer.  People  say  John  had  almost  worshipped  her 
—  though  they  always  say  such  things.  But  evidently 
the  disappointment  did  n't  turn  him  into  a  misanthrope 
or  a  woman  hater ;  he  simply  grows  more  and  more 
devoted  to  his  social  work,  until  lam  sometimes  afraid 
he  will  become  a  hopeless  fanatic.  He  spoke  about 
his  past  once,  only  once,  to  Mr.  Sargent  when  they 
were  off  together  somewhere,  —  of  course  Mr.  Sargent 
told  me,  —  and  said  he  never  should  marry.  He  's 
a  young  man  yet,  only  thirty-three,  and  it's  dreary 
for  him,  I  know,  although  he  never  says  a  word 
about  it  or  makes  any  complaint.  But  many  a 
man  envies  him,  and  many  a  girl  would  like  to  be 
Mrs.  John  Loring." 

"That's  a  long  chapter,"  she  concluded,  "and  it 
sounds  like  gossip."  Perhaps  it  was  unnecessary, 
but  she  had  felt  she  ought  to  tell  this  to  Mary.  "  He 
is  always  doing  helpful  things,  and  last  summer,  when 
you  told  us  what  you  had  been  reading,  and  I  spoke 
of  sending  you  some  books,  he  remembered  it  and 
sent  them  himself  ;  and  when  I  showed  him  your  first 
letter,  he  simply  said  he  would  rather  the  books 
seemed  to  come  from  me ;  so  I  lent  myself  to  the 
harmless  deception.  It  is  a  small  matter,  and  I 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  155 

wouldn't  speak  about  it  to  him,  if  I  were  you,"  said 
Mrs.  Sargent,  as  she  rose  from  the  table. 

Mary  was  looking  down  at  little  Katharine,  who 
had  left  her  place  and  come  to  Mary's  side ;  it  was 
comforting  to  have  the  child  near  her. 

There  was  a  debate  on  the  woman  suffrage  question 
that  evening  at  the  Hunnewell  Clubhouse.  "  Even 
if  we  have  to  give  up  the  Dog  Show,  we  must  let  Miss 
Cameron  have  a  taste  of  the  suffrage,  or  her  Boston 
experiences  will  not  be  complete,"  Mrs.  Sargent  in 
sisted  when  her  husband  demurred,  at  dinner,  to 
attending  the  meeting. 

Carriageful  after  carriageful  of  people  was  deposited 
at  the  entrance  to  the  handsome  colonial  building, 
for  the  suffrage  question  continues  to  be  a  live  issue. 

A  gentle-faced,  sweet-voiced  woman  was  the  first 
speaker,  and  she  pleaded  warmly  for  the  suffrage 
right.  Then  the  opposing  side  was  taken  by  a  thin- 
voiced-  inadequately  equipped  man,  who  scored  a 
few  points  and  said  effusive  things  about  women ; 
"they  rule  us  now,  and  it's  too  bad  to  accumulate 
too  much  power  on  one  side,"  was  his  final  argument. 
Next  a  frothy,  aggressive-mannered  young  woman 
delivered  a  fierce  tirade  about  the  success  of  woman's 


156  MART  CAMERON:   A  EOMANCE 

work  to-day,  and  the  therefore-to-be-claimed  success 
of  the  suffrage  privilege  if  exerted  by  them.  Last 
of  all,  a  fine-faced  woman,  full  of  years  and  dignity, 
spoke  briefly,  making  a  final  point  that  "  one  woman, 
simply  by  being  her  own  womanly  self,  has  more 
influence  for  good  and  more  power  for  reform  than 
ten  women  clamoring  for  the  ballot." 

Mr.  Loring  joined  the  Sargent's  party,  as  the  audi 
ence  broke  up  into  groups  after  the  discussion.  "  How 
do  you  feel  on  the  subject?"  He  spoke  to  Mary. 

'-'  I  suppose  the  suffrage  is  sure  to  come,  sometime, 
but  I  don't  want  it  for  myself,"  she  answered  in  her 
straightforward  way.  "  I  don't  know  much  about  it, 
though  of  course  I  have  read  the  papers  ;  it  seems  to 
me  that  women  ought  to  attend  to  what  concerns  them 
most,  and  I  don't  believe  voting  is  the  most  important 
thing." 

"  I  think  you  are  right.  If  women  would  turn  their 
attention  to  what  lies  in  their  power,  near  them  — just 
as  I  was  saying  this  morning  —  that  would  bring  the 
social  millennium  sooner  than  anything  else." 

"Why  do  people  here  have  so  many  societies  and 
clubs  and  lectures?"  She  asked  the  question  in  all 
sincerity  ;  it  had  been  a  puzzle  and  surprise  to  her. 


OF   FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  157 

"The  fact  is,"  he  answered,  with  the  smile  that 
made  his  face  so  winning,  "  men  and  women  in  this 
modern  Athens  —  the  women  perhaps  more  than  the 
men  —  are  warmly  interested  in  progress  and  reforms. 
There  's  a  good  and  an  unfortunate  side  to  it ;  and 
there  are  so  many  organizations  of  the  kind  that  they 
might  well  be  classed  under  a  general  head  of  '  Soci 
eties  for  Putting  Things  to  Rights.'  It  is  the  tend 
ency  of  the  times." 

"But  why  not  leave  off  talking  so  much,  and  just 
live  ?  "  she  asked,  a  touch  of  merriment  in  her  brown  eyes. 

"That  is  rank  heresy  !  "  he  replied,  with  an  answer 
ing  flash  of  fun.  "  You  will  be  scut  forth  as  a  Philis 
tine  if  you  venture  such  comments.  How  would  you 
have  people  live  ?  " 

"Oh,  out  of  doors  more,  with  the  birds  and  the 
flowers,"  she  answered. 

"  Most  girls  would  n't  find  that  very  exciting,"  he 
said,  looking  at  her  attentively. 

"It  doesn't  always  satisfy  mo,"  she  answered 
frankly,  "yet  I've  felt  stifled  here  sometimes,  it's  so 
—  so  —  civilized  !  " 

She  looked  more  as  though  she  belonged  outdoors 
than  in,  as  she  stood  there  —  with  that  indefinable 


158  MARY   CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

outdoor  atmosphere,  tall,  firm-figured,  in  her  simple 
dark  blue  street  suit  and  white  silk  sLirt  waist,  her 
beautiful  hair  shining  under  the  blue  straw  hat.  un- 
trimmed  save  for  some  ribbon  and  quills  ;  she  wore 
her  clothes  well,  her  most  severe  critic  had  to  admit 
that. 

She  was  woman  enough  to  know  that  Mr.  Loring 
was  attracted  toward  her.  His  manner  had  not  lost 
the  animation  of  the  morning,  and  his  eyes  were  full 
of  kindly  interest.  Mary  hardly  allowed  herself  to 
meet  them  ;  Mrs.  Sargent's  story  had  been  constantly 
in  her  mind,  and  there  was  a  restraint  about  her  man 
ner  which  had  not  existed  that  morning,  —  the  sense 
of  content  in  his  presence  was  broken  in  upon  by  a 
growing  embarrassment.  She  was  relieved  when  Mrs. 
Merrick  and  her  daughter  came  toward  them. 

After  a  few  casual  remarks,  Miss  Merrick  said  to 
Mary,  "  Did  you  know  Mr.  Weston  arrived  in  New 
York  yesterday?  He  called  this  afternoon." 

The  unexpected  mention  of  Rob  Weston  brought 
an  added  constraint  to  Mary,  and  meeting  Mr.  Lor- 
ing's  eyes  just  then,  she  colored  deeply,  wave  after 
wave  flushing  her  face.  But  the  Merricks  did  not 
notice  her  embarrassment,  for  at  that  moment  Mr, 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  159 

and  Mrs.  Sargent,  saying  good-nigbt  to  the  people 
they  had  been  talking  with,  turned  at  the  mention  of 
Rob's  name. 

"He  has  really  arrived,  has  he?"  asked  Mr.  Sar 
gent.  "  I  wonder  he  did  n't  come  around  to  my  office 
to-day." 

"  I  must  look  him  up  early  to-morrow,"  said  Mr. 
Loring  in  a  steady  voice,  his  eyes  still  on  Mary. 

"It's  insufferably  warm  here,"  Mrs.  Sargent  inter 
rupted,  noticing  Mary's  flushed  face,  "  and  as  we 
have  talked  the  suffrage  subject  threadbare  again,  we 
may  as  well  go  home." 

• '  Won't  you  ride  home  with  us,  John  ?  "  she  asked  ; 
he  had  walked  to  the  door  with  them. 

Mr.  Loring  shook  hands  with  Mary  after  he  had 
declined  Mrs.  Sargent's  invitation.  "Is  it  day  after 
to-morrow  that  you  start  for  home?" 

"Yes." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  was  all  he  said  ;  but  he  looked  at 
her  with  such  strange,  bewildering  intensity  that 
the  color  did  not  leave  her  face  until  they  reached 
home,  nor  the  sense  of  his  pressure  on  her  hand. 

That  night  John  Loring,  turning  back,  as  was  his 
wont,  to  those  days  which,  though  seven  years  past 


160  MARY   CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

now,  had  never  seemed  more  remote  than  yesterday, 
was  startled  to  find  in  the  place  of  the  old  ideal  a 
vision  of  clear,  shining  eyes,  a  recollection  of  sweet 
voice  and  compassionate,  womanly  presence.  Hour 
after  hour  he  paced  the  floor,  while  the  gradual  recon 
ciliation  went  on  ;  then,  like  the  sane  man  he  was,  he 
accepted  the  fact,  nay,  he  welcomed  it,  and  his  hope 
went  toward  it. 

But  why  had  the  mention  of  Rob  Weston  so  visibly 
affected  her,  twice?  He  had  told  her  he  was  sorry  she 
was  going  home,  but  in  his  heart  he  was  glad,  now  that 
Rob  had  come. 

And  that  night  Mar}7,  wide-eyed,  wakeful,  went 
over  the  manifold  events  of  the  day — the  morning 
sights  of  misery  and  sharp  anguish,  her  new  owner 
ship  of  the  island,  the  lunch-time  talk  with  Mrs.  Sar 
gent,  the  evening  occurrences.  She  remembered  that 
Rob  Weston  had  come  home  ;  but  what  did  it  mean 
that  in  place  of  thinking  about  him  she  was  wondering 
over  the  meaning  of  Mr.  Loring's  look?  Then  the 
merciless  story  of  his  life  came  back  again,  and  with 
all  the  strength  born  of  past  overcoming,  she  reso 
lutely  laid  her  hand  on  this  ecstatic,  vital  thing  which 
was  springing  up  in  her  soul. 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  161 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

u  Love  is  not  love 

Which  alters  when  it  alteration  finds, 
Or  bends  with  the  remover  to  remove." 

—  Shakespeare. 

"I  grieve  not  with  the  moaning  wind, 
As  if  a  loss  befell ; 
Before  me,  even  as  behind, 
God  is,  and  all  is  well." 

—  John  G.  Whittier. 

MARY  did  not  open  the  book,  but  let  it  fall  on 
her  knees,  while  her  eyes  wandered  to  the 
library  window,  where,  looking  down  across  the  slop 
ing  lawn,  she  could  see  the  sunshine  falling  on  the 
rich  clumps  of  spring  flowers  and,  beyond,  the  sleep 
ing  hills.  The  fragrant  air  came  in  through  the  open 
window,  and  a  golden  oriole  was  calling  with  liquid 
note  from  the  larch  tree.  The  air  indoors  seemed 
heavy,  so  after  a  moment  she  went  out  on  the  broad 
veranda.  She  had  dressed  early  for  dinner  and  was 
waiting. 

Two  letters  had  lain  by  her  place  at  breakfast  that 
morning.  One,  several  days  old  before  its  start,  was 
from  Aunt  Hetty,  who  had  written,  ''Don't  let  city 


162  MART  CAMEEON:   A   ROMANCE 

notions  turn  your  head.  Your  father  says,  stay  till 
you  are  ready  to  come  home  ;  he  is  getting  along  all 
right,  though  I  expect  he  misses  you  a  sight.  I  sup 
pose  the  summer  visitors  will  be  as  thick  as  potato 
bugs  along  the  shore  when  you  get  home."  The  other 
was  a  brief  note  from  Rob  "Weston,  saying  he  espe 
cially  wanted  to  see  her  and  would  call  about  five 
o'clock. 

Mary  seated  herself  in  a  corner  of  the  veranda, 
partly  sheltered  by  climbing  vines  ;  it  would  be  easier 
to  see  Rob  out  of  doors,  after  all. 

Coming  up  the  driveway  in  a  cab,  Rob  saw  her, 
and  walked  around  the  house  to  her  unannounced  — 
the  same  impetuous,  self-confident  Rob,  his  face 
browned  by  the  sea  voyage,  his  blue  eyes  touched 
with  grief  for  his  uncle.  There  was  evidently  a  strong 
nervous  tension  about  him,  and  his  greeting  was 
constrained. 

"  Miss  Merrick  tells  me  you  are  going  home  to 
morrow,"  he  said,  as  he  sat  down  opposite  Mary  on 
the  low  bench  which  bordered  the  veranda.  How 
beautiful  she  was  in  that  white  India-stuff  gown  with 
its  bit  of  lace  —  it  was  an  old-fashioned  gown,  re 
modeled  from  one  that  had  been  her  mother's. 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  163 

After  a  few  restless  remarks  about  her  visit  and 
his  voyage,  he  began  twisting  his  hat  nervously  in  his 
hands. 

"  Why  did  n't  you  answer  my  last  letter?  " 

"  I  hardly  thought  you  cared  to  hear  from  me." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Because  you  were  so  long  about  writing." 

"  But  you  see,  I  was  working  like  a  dog,  and  there 
is  n't  much  a  fellow  can  write  about,  and  I  did  n't 
know  definitely  about  coming  home." 

He  stopped.  She  said  nothing,  but  looked  away. 
He  forgot  for  the  moment  certain  passages  of  flirta 
tion  with  Miss  Kendall. 

"  And  I  could  n't  ask  you  to  marry  me,  as  I  can 
now." 

She  was  still  silent,  but  an  inward  protest  rose 
unfalteringly. 

"Didn't  you  know  last  summer  that  I  cared  for 
you?" 

"  Sometimes  I  thought  perhaps  you  did." 

"  Then  why  are  you  so  different  now?  " 

"Because  —  I  don't  know.  It  was  a  long,  hard 
winter,  and  things  seem  different." 

He  grew  more  eager  as  she  appeared  to  elude  him ; 


164  MARY   CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

moving  nearer,  he  bent  forward  and  tried  to  take  her 
hand.  But  she  withdrew  hers,  and  the  pleading  in  his 
eyes  was  lost  upon  her,  for  her  own  were  downcast. 

Rob  rose  and  walked  restlessly  back  and  forth, 
cursing  his  folly  for  waiting,  and  recalling  rapidly 
those  days  last  summer. 

"  Why  did  you  ask  me  if  I  had  ever  been  con 
firmed?" 

"Because  I  thought  I  cared  for  you;  because"  — 
the  womanhood  in  her  rose,  and  truth  compelled  her 
—  "I  did  care  in  an  imaginative,  unreal  way,  and  I 
thought  then  that  coining  into  the  church,  in  itself,  was 
the  gateway  to  heaven  ;  and,  oh,  it  was  childish,  but  I 
thought  I  should  feel  better  about  your  going  so  far 
away  if  T  knew  I  should  see  you  again."  Her  face 
had  grown  very  pale  and  gentle  ;  she  seemed  to  be 
speaking  of  some  one  other  than  herself. 

The  man's  better  nature  was  touched,  and  he  saw, 
as  by  a  revelation,  the  change  which  had  been  wrought 
in  less  than  a  year,  transforming  the  immature  girl 
into  a  woman  infinitely  more  attractive.  "  That  is 
enough  to  make  a  man  try  to  win  heaven,"  he  said 
softly,  seating  himself  opposite  her  again.  Then 
after  a  moment,  "  There  must  have  been  something 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  165 

real  in  your  feeling.  Why  can't  you  learn  to  care  for 
me  again  ?  " 

No  yielding  in  her  face,  only  a  growing,  infinite  pity. 

"Miss  Mary,"  he  said  hotly,  roused  again,  "if 
you  won't  marry  me,  how  can  I  believe  in  goodness,  or 
heaven,  or  anything  else?  You  will  kill  my  faith." 

"Mr.  Weston,  this  is  unworthy  of  you;  it  isn't 
manly."  She  drew  herself  up  in  her  chair,  her  dark 
eyes  showing  darker  by  contrast  with  her  white  face. 
"  When  a  woman  confesses  to  you  that  her  feeling  for 
you  was  only  imaginary,  only  a  girl's  fancy,  built  on 
trifles,  have  n't  you  the  manhood  to  accept  it?  " 

"They  were  not  trifles;  I  loved  you  all  the  time," 
he  said  bitterly,  "  fool  that  I  was  not  to  tell  her  so 
then,"  he  added  to  himself. 

His  eyes  traveled  from  her  to  the  distant  hills. 
"  Think  how  Uncle  Levi  would  have  liked  to  have  us 
care  for  each  other,"  lie  said,  looking  at  her  again.  He 
saw  the  sudden  weakening  at  the  corners  of  the  firm 
mouth,  and  his  hope  awoke.  But  Mary  was  thinking 
of  Judge  Weston's  words,  "  Be  true  to  yourself." 

"  Is  there  any  reason  why  you  can't  try  to  care  for 
me?"  he  asked,  with  a  desperate  determination  to 
have  a  definite  answer. 


166  MARY  CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

There  was  one  quick  leap  of  her  heart,  which  Mary 
thrust  back  as  she  answered  "  No." 

"Then  will  you  try?  Let  me  ask  you  again  this 
summer.  Give  me  this  chance,"  lie  pleaded. 

"  My  answer  will  be  just  the  same  then,"  she 
replied  wearily.  "  I  am  sure  of  this,  Mr.  Weston." 
She  turned  her  beautiful,  steady  eyes  full  on  him  now  ; 
and  he,  looking  into  them,  saw  that  she  spoke  the 
truth,  lint  he  clung  to  the  hope. 

"At  least  give  me  the  chance,"  he  insisted;  "it 
will  help  me  to  be  a  better  man.  Promise  me  you 
will  try." 

She  hesitated.  It  was  weak  not  to  hold  to  her 
"  no."  But  it  might  help  him,  and  a  woman's  heart 
is  always  tender  toward  a  man  who  has  confessed  his 
love  for  her. 

"  I  promise,"  she  said,  and  with  that  he  had  to  go 
content. 

About  nine  o'clock  that  evening  Mary  was  upstairs, 
while  Mrs.  Sargent's  maid  helped  pack  her  trunk  for 
the  morrow's  start,  when  Mr.  Loriug  called.  He  asked 
first  for  Mrs.  Sargent,  and  he  found  her  in  the  library. 
She  saw  that  he  had  something  especial  to  say  to  her, 
so  she  chatted  on  until  he  was  ready.  His  face 


OF  FISHEEMAN-'S  ISLAND.  167 

was  noticeably  pale,  his  absorption  unusual.  After 
a  few  moments  —  he  had  heard  nothing  of  what  Mrs. 
Sargent  said  —  he  began  :  — 

"  You  know  the  history  of  my  life  —  an  unfortunate 
only  child,  having  too  much  kindness  and  too  much 
restriction,  growing  up  self-willed,  and  then  blindly 
starving  my  life  because  I  could  n't  have  what  I 
wanted?  I  have  waked  up  at  last  —  I  have  had  to. 
Do  you  know  why?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  simply. 

"  Is  it  —  would  you  advise  me  to  try  now?" 

"  Oh,  John  !  "  she  exclaimed,  reaching  out  her  hand 
in  sympathy,  "  I  am  afraid  it 's  too  late.  Jf  you  had 
only  asked  me  yesterday !  There  is  something  be 
tween  her  and  Rob  Weston,  for  he  was  here  this  after 
noon,  and  just  as  he  was  going,  I  was  down  in  the 
library  and  they  were  on  the  veranda,  and  I  could  n't 
help  hearing  her  promise  him  something." 

Mrs.  Sargent  was  startled  by  the  look  of  anguish 
in  the  man's  eyes.  For  a  moment  he  kept  her  kind, 
steadying  hand,  then  rising  aad  looking  down  into  the 
fire  before  which  they  had  both  been  seated  —  it  was 
a  raw,  chilly  evening  —  he  said,  in  a  voice  full  of  sup 
pressed  emotion :  — 


168  MART  CAMERON:  A  ROMANCE 

"  I  should  like  to  see  her  to  say  good-by." 

Mary  was  reluctant  to  go  down,  but  Mrs.  Sargent 
urged  it,  saying,  "  Remember  how  much  he  has  done 
for  you."  So  she  went,  and  Mrs.  Sargent  stayed  be 
hind,  looking  out  from  the  hall  window  into  the  dark 
overhanging  night,  murmuring,  "Poor  John!  poor 
man  !  " 

Downstairs  Mary  found  him  standing  by  the  fireside 
in  the  library  —  it  was  just  where  Mrs.  Sargent  had 
left  him.  He  looked  up  and  came  forward  as  Mary 
entered  the  room. 

The  graceful,  clinging  white  gown  made  her  look 
taller,  more  womanly,  than  ever.  Her  hair,  disar 
ranged  with  the  work  of  packing,  was  loosened  around 
her  face,  her  brown  eyes  shone  out  like  stars,  and 
there  was  a  tremulous  smile  on  the  sweet  red  lips. 

"I  will  keep  you  only  a  moment,"  he  said,  "be 
cause  it  is  growing  late  and  you  ought  to  be  resting 
for  your  journey."  His  eyes  were  drinking  in  every 
detail  of  her  face. 

"  Have  you  heard  from  the  German  Jew  to-day?" 
she  asked,  lifting  her  eyes. 

"  I  was  there  this  morning  ;  he  died  at  noon." 

"Is  there  anything  I  could  do  —  send  them  a  little 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  169 

money  or  anything?  I  have  some  left  that  was  given 
me  to  spend." 

"  I  'm  afraid  not,"  he  answered,  a  gleam  of  pleas 
ure  lighting  his  face  and  his  eyes  shining  with  that 
bewildering  look,  under  which  her  own  eyes  fell  again. 

With  a  visible  effort  she  broke  the  impending  si 
lence.  "Mrs.  Sargent  told  me,  or  rather,  I  found 
out  from  your  handwriting  on  the  deeds,  that  it  was 
you  who  sent  all  those  books  to  me,  and  I  want  to 
thank  you  for  them." 

"  It  was  a  very  slight  thing  to  do,"  he  answered, 
putting  aside  her  thanks. 

"  Slight  to  you,  probably,  but  it  meant  a  great  deal 
to  me  in  those  long  winter  days." 

"I  shall  be  glad  to  send  more";  he  could  surely 
let  himself  do  this. 

They  had  both  remained  standing. 

"  Why,  oh,  why,  did  he  come  to  torture  me  again?" 
Mary  was  saying  to  herself. 

Not  daring  to  trust  himself  longer,  he  took  her 
hand  in  his  for  one  mute  moment,  looked  strainingly 
at  the  downcast  face,  and  without  saying  good-by, 
went  out  into  the  night. 

Mary  was  standing  by  the  dressing  table,  absently 


170  MARY  CAMERON:    A   ROMANCE 

looking  down  at  the  candles,  when  Mrs.  Sargent  en 
tered  in  response  to  Mary's  low  "  Come  in"  after  her 
knock.  She  wanted  to  have  a  farewell  talk  with  her 
guest. 

"  I  am  sorry  you  feel  that  you  can't  stay  longer, 
but  you  must  surely  come  to  us  for  a  good  visit  next 
winter.  We  shall  probably  see  you  before  then, 
though,  for  Mr.  Sargent  has  decided  to  buy  a  yacht, 
and  we  shall  go  cruising  along  the  Maine  coast  this 
summer." 

Mary's  face  was  still  preoccupied  ;  she  had  seated 
herself  opposite  Mrs.  Sargent,  but  was  only  half  lis 
tening. 

With  a  natural  curiosity,  Mrs.  Sargent  was  speculat 
ing  on  the  exact  relation  between  Mary  and  Rob.  She 
ventured :  — 

"  I  wish  you  might  marry  and  live  near  Boston 
some  day.  You  surely  can't  think  of  staying  on  that 
island  always." 

"  How  is  a  woman  to  know  when  she  loves  a  man 
enough  to  marry  him?"  came  the  unexpected  question. 
"  What  is  love,  anyway?  " 

"Oh,  it's  a  kind  of  'inward  unaccountability  and 
an  outward  all-overness,'  as  a  brother  of  mine  used 


OF  FISHERMAN^S  ISLAND.  171 

to  say.  It  isn't  easy  to  define,  just  as  is  true  of  all 
high  and  noble  things." 

"  She  stopped,  then,  seeing  the  trouble  in  the  girl's 
face,  she  went  on  :  — 

"Marriage  increases  one's  enjoyment  and  apprecia 
tion,  it  doubles  all  there  was  before,  if  the  love  is  true 
and  deep.  But  don't  ever  marry  anybody  you  can 
live  without,  anybody  whose  mere  presence  does  n't 
satisfy  your  n?art,  whether  he  brings  you  peace  or 
not,  whether  he  is  a  scamp  or  a  reprobate  or  an  arch 
angel !  Love  does  n't  necessarily  bring  peace.  That 
greatest  lover  of  all  who  ever  came  into  the  world 
said  he  came  not  to  bring  peace  but  a  sword.  If  you 
want  peace,  go  into  a  convent.  Love  brings  satisfac 
tion,  but  never  entire  peace." 

Mary's  face  was  full  of  unrest ;  she  was  thinking, 
"If  only  I  could  tell  it  all  to  her,"  but  the  words 
would  not  come. 

Mrs.  Sargent  yearned  to  help  her  ;  there  was  some 
thing  she  had  not  fathomed.  "  Perhaps  separation  is 
the  best  test  of  love,"  she  said,  rising,  and  tenderly 
putting  her  hand  in  passing  on  the  bright  hair. 
"  Wait  a  moment,  I  am  going  to  read  somethiug  to 
you."  She  vanished  and  reappeared  in  a  moment, 


172  MARY  CAMERON:    A    ROMANCE 

settling  herself  with  soft  rustlings  of  her  silk  bed 
room  gown  in  a  large  chair  near  the  dressing  table. 
"A  happy,  happy  woman!"  thought  Mary,  looking 
at  the  fair-faced  woman  as  she  began  to  read,  first 
saying,  "  This  is  something  I  came  across  the  other 
day  in  the  North  American  Review,  and  it  refers  to 
that  natural  looking  forward  to  marriage  which  every 
true-natured  woman  ought  to  feel." 

"  If  this  eagerness  for  marriage  arose  from  desire 
for  sympathy,  and  if  constant  efforts  were  made  to 
render  their  minds  more  intelligent  and  graceful,  that 
they  may  be  able  to  keep  some  rare  love  in  a  husband, 
and  that  they  may  train,  in  all  beauteous  mode,  his 
children,  we  should  not  quarrel  with  them.  There  are 
men  possessing  high  minds  and  souls  of  delicate  sen 
sibility,  hungering  to  find  in  woman  what  a  fate  that 
they  do  not,  dare  not  doubt,  tells  them  is  in  her;  are 
hungering  to  form  some  real  marriage  ;  and  they  roam 
the  world's  garden,  where  the  flowers  are  arranged  in 
choicest  order,  saying  in  sad  disappointment,  '  They 
do  not  answer  us,  speak  to  us,  are  no  companions, 
have  so  little  love,  are  not  true  women.'  ' 

"  Dear,  there  are  men  in  the  world  like  that,"  said 
Mrs.  Sargent,  holding  Mary  for  a  moment  in  a  good 
night  embrace,  "  and  I  hope  you  will  know  it  some  day," 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  173 

After  Mrs.  Sargent  went,  Mary  sat  for  a  long  time 
with  her  head  upon  her  folded  arras.  Eleven  chiming 
from  the  great  hall  clock  reminded  her  that  she  would 
be  starting  in  less  than  nine  hours  now.  She  was 
utterly  glad  to  be  going  home,  and  the  only  desire 
that  possessed  her  was  to  be  alone  again. 

The  east  wind  moaned  at  the  window.  Mary  fin 
ished  her  packing,  put  out  the  candles,  and  went  to 
bed  in  that  state  of  dumb  submission  which  knows, 
though  it  cannot  feel,  the  reality  of  the  Everlasting 
Arms  underneath  all  events. 


174  MARY   CAMEfiON:   A  ROMANCE 


CHAPTER  XV. 

14  Ay,  so  the  gods  send  us 
The  darkening  cloud,  that  we  the  radiant  bow 
In  twice  triumphant  brightness  shall  behold !  " 

—  Brunhild. 

DONALD  CAMERON  was  at  home  when  Mary 
arrived,  —  her  Uncle  Donald,  back  from  his 
South  American  voyages.  His  old-fashioned  face, 
lined  with  the  furrows  worn  by  a  life  of  exposure, 
his  figure  bent  with  rheumatism  and  hard  work,  past 
his  three  score  years,  he  was  about  ready  to  come 
to  anchor  for  the  rest  of  his  life. 

"I'll  make  one  more  trip,  then  I'm  goin'  to  turn 
the  Flying  Kestrel  over  to  my  first  mate,"  he  an 
nounced  the  evening  after  Mary's  arrival,  when  they 
all  came  together  for  a  family  conference.  He  "  set 
great  store  by  Mary,"  as  he  said,  and  had  waited  her 
return  to  announce  his  news.  "  The  shippin'  business 
ain't  what  it  used  to  be,"  he  went  on  sententiously, 
*'  for  steamboats  an'  railroads  have  cut  freights  down 
to  almost  nothin'.  I  've  saved  'bout  enough,  with 
what  I  '11  have  comin'  in  from  the  schooner,  to  keep 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  175 

me  an'  Hetty  the  rest  of  our  lives.  Jack,  he  'd  better 
stick  to  boat  buildin'." 

It  had  never  been  his  plan  to  have  Jack  follow  the 
sea.  "  No,  goiu'  to  sea's  the  last  thing  I  'd  let  a  boy 
o'  mine  do ;  there  ain't  nothin'  I  know  of  that  '11  send 
him  straight  to  perdition  any  quicker.  It 's  a  dog's 
life,  too,  nowadays."  He  was  a  bluff,  outspoken  man, 
uneasy  on  land,  like  all  seafarers,  and  especially  ill- 
content  on  Fisherman's  Island. 

"If  I'm  goin'  to  be  dry-docked  the  rest  o'  my 
life,  Hetty,  it's  got  to  be  somewheres  else 'n  this 
place."  He  always  came  home  from  sea  with  a  bold 
front,  and  this  time  he  kept  it  up.  "  Why,  the  first 
thing  I  'd  know,  I  'd  be  walkin'  round  this  tarnation 
place,  an'  go  straight  off  into  the  water.  You'd  have 
me  an  old  barnacl'd  wreck  on  your  hands  in  no  time." 

So  the  news  that  the  island  property  had  come  to 
Mary,  while  it  kindled  afresh  their  affection  and  re 
spect  for  Judge  Weston,  served  but  to  increase  the 
perplexities  of  the  two  families. 

"  If  Donald  won't  stay,  I  can't  go  an'  leave  Mary 
an'  her  father  here  all  alone,"  Aunt  Hetty  reiterated 
helplessly,  divided  against  herself. 

"Well,  well,  I  can  settle  things  better  after  I've 


176  MARY  CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

slep'  over  "em,"  said  Captain  Cameron  ;  "  let 's  drop 
it  now."  He  did  not  want  Mary's  first  evening  at 
home  spoiled  by  a  long  discussion  with  Aunt  Hetty. 

"  Mebbe  we'd  better  shut  the  houses  up  an'  all  go 
over  to  the  main  to  live,  I  guess,"  she  said  to  Mary 
one  day,  rehearsing  the  situation  for  the  hundredth 
time.  "  Your  father  seemed  to  me  kinder  failin' like 
last  winter,  an'  I  'm  thiukin'  it  'd  be  pretty  tough 
gettin'  through  another  winter  here." 

"But  what  would  father  and  I  have  to  live  on?" 
asked  Mary. 

"I'll  take  care  of  you,  Mary,"  put  in  Jack,  "just 
as  long  as  I  can  build  boats." 

"Jack's  very  partial  to  Mary.  If  they  wasn't 
cousins,  I  expect  they  'd  like  each  other  well  enough 
to  fix  it  up  between  'em,"  Aunt  Hetty  confided  to  her 
husband.  She  occasionally  surprised  herself,  and  him, 
too,  by  talking  things  over  confidentially  with  him. 
In  her  heart,  she  was  dryly  thankful  he  was  going  to 
give  up  the  sea  ;  but  nothing  would  have  induced  her 
to  tell  him  so. 

Their  difficulties  were  settled,  however,  speedily, 
and  in  a  manner  they  little  anticipated. 

Eighteen  years  old  when  he  ran  away  from  home, 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  177 

Edwin  Cameron  —  Mary's  brother — had  not  found 
making  his  way  in  the  world  an  easy  path.  He  had 
shipped  on  a  fishing  schooner,  as  his  father  rightly 
conjectured  ;  but  there  were  forty  or  more  of  these 
vessels  bound  from  Boothbay  for  the  Banks  at  that 
time,  and  when  Captain  Cameron  came  out  from  the 
rage  which  drove  his  son  away,  these  vessels  had  been 
twenty-four  hours  at  sea.  From  the  George's  Banks  to 
Portland,  then  on  an  English  steamship  to  Liverpool, 
had  been  Edwin  Cameron's  course.  The  wretched  ill- 
treatment  he  experienced  at  sea,  latterly  a  stirring 
fascination  about  the  great  city,  kept  him  in  Liver 
pool.  Sore  with  a  sullen  sense  of  grievance  he  had 
vowed  never  to  return  until  he  was  a  man  independ 
ent  of  his  father.  Working  first  around  the  great 
Liverpool  docks,  obliged  to  live  anywhere,  cut  off 
from  home  ties  and  home  tenderness,  his  indomitable 
perseverance  and  inherent  integrity  alone  enabled  him 
to  rise,  in  spite  of  circumstances.  At  the  end  of  ten 
years  he  reached  a  breathing  place  ;  next  in  line  of 
promotion  to  junior  member  in  the  large  shipping  firm 
of  Laking,  Hatton  &  Vincent,  he  was  now  in  a  posi 
tion  of  comparative  ease,  and  he  resolved  to  go  home. 
He  had  intended  writing,  years  ago,  after  his  anger 


178  MARY  CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

wore  away  ;  but  this  he  kept  putting  off,  telling  him 
self  he  would  soon  go  in  person.  At  last  the  impulse 
grew  unconquerable,  and  sailing  from  Liverpool,  he 
arrived  in  New  York  the  last  of  June,  and  quickly 
made  his  way  to  Boothbay. 

No  one  in  his  native  town  recognized  him. 
"There's  Donald  Cameron  goin'  by  now,"  the  old 
shopkeeper  said,  pointing  out  of  the  window  with  his 
forefinger  as  he  finished  his  account,  in  which  the  for 
eign-looking  man  had  appeared  greatly  interested,  of 
the  Camerons'  removal  to  Fisherman's  Island.  The 
visitor  hastily  left  the  shop,  and  the  old  man,  watching 
the  meeting  outside,  was  mystified  by  the  surprise  on 
Donald  Cameron's  face,  and  the  evident  constraint  of 
the  stranger. 

Donald  Cameron,  sailing  back  to  the  island  in  the 
Kady  that  afternoon,  —  he  had  been  off  all  day  house 
hunting, — brought  a  passenger,  eager-eyed  and  nervous. 

"  Son,  I  knew  you  would  come  home  some  day," 
said  the  old  father,  as  after  the  solemn,  thankful 
pause  which  followed  their  meeting,  he  stood  with  one 
hand  on  the  shoulder  of  the  tall,  resolute- faced  man  ; 
"  an'  I  knew  you  by  your  boy's  look,  the  first  minute." 

But  when  the  father   would  have  humbled  himself 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  179 

for  liis  part  in  that  tragedy  of  the  past,  the  son  would 
not  allow  it.  "The  past  is  past,  father,  let  us  say 
no  more  about  it,"  he  protested,  after  his  explanation 
of  the  years  that  lay  between  ;  and  the  father  saw 
that  the  subject  was  too  painful  for  many  words. 

It  happened  often  during  those  next  days,  as  he 
saw  his  son  in  and  around  the  house,  a  broad-shoul 
dered,  full-grown  man  now,  prop  to  his  old  age  and 
protector  for  Mary,  that  the  father  wiped  furtive  tears 
from  his  eyes ;  the  strain  of  so  much  happiness  made 
him  tremulous. 

Mary,  eleven  years  old  at  the  time  her  brother  went 
away,  had  slight  memory  of  him.  "  So  you  are  really 
my  brother  ? "  she  often  repeated  ;  and  her  quaint 
gravity  over  him  was  very  winning  to  the  man,  who, 
remembering  his  mother  far  better  than  the  little  girl, 
found  in  his  newly  acquired  sister  so  great  a  likeness 
to  the  mother  —  whose  death  was  the  one  grief  now 
which  time  had  not  canceled  —  that  he  could  hardly  do 
enough  for  her.  As  a  sister  and  as  a  woman  she 
answered  his  expectation.  "  Gad!  "  he  said  to  him 
self,  ' '  some  day  I  '11  have  her  come  and  keep  house 
for  me,  but  not  in  that  beastly,  smoky  Liverpool." 

He  could  be  absent  only  a  month,  which  left  little 


180  MARY  CAMERON:   A  ROMANCE 

more  than  a  week  to  arrange  for  the  comfort  of  his 
father  and  Mary.  Accustomed  as  he  was  to  rapid 
action  and  quick  decision,  two  visits  to  Boothbay 
sufficed  for  the  purchase  of  a  large  house,  capable  of 
adaptation  to  two  families.  "I've  set  some  men  at 
work  to  get  the  house  into  good  shape,"  he  said,  tell 
ing  them  of  his  purchase,  "  so  it  will  be  quite  ready 
for  you  early  in  the  fall." 

On  the  morning  before  he  left,  he  put  a  checkbook 
into  his  father's  hands.  "  Here  is  something  for  you 
to  draw  on  freely,  for  you  and  Mary,  in  the  Boothbay 
Bank  ;  draw  to  any  extent,  there  '11  be  more  to  come." 

The  old  man  looked  steadfastly  into  the  honest  blue 
eyes,  so  like  his  own,  when  he  bade  his  sou  good-by. 
"I've  sailed  from  New  York,  from  Philedelphy,  an' 
Baltimore,  an'  New  Orleans,  an'  Liverpool,  an'  Barce- 
lony,  an'  almost  every  other  port  on  the  globe  ;  I  've 
never  amounted  to  anythin',  an'  I'm  glad  I  didn't 
either.  Yet  I've  had  my  compensations.  The  Lord's 
mercy  has  been  sure  an'  unfailin'.  He  brings  us  all 
home  to  the  truth,  sooner  or  later.  His  givin'  you 
back  to  me  is  the  one  thing  I  've  prayed  for  most. 
Now  I  'm  ready  to  go  home,  —  home  to  your  mother, 
whose  heart  I  nigh  to  broke.  God  bless  you,  God 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  181 

bless  you,  my  boy,  my  boy  ! "  said  the  white-haired 
man,  putting  his  hands  in  benediction  upon  the  head 
bowed  to  receive  it. 

"  You  '11  welcome  me  home  many  a  time  yet,"  said 
the  son,  when  he  could  control  his  choking  voice. 
But  this  was  not  to  be. 

When  Edwin  started  for  New  York,  Donald  Cam 
eron  went  as  far  as  Boston  to  take  command,  for  the 
last  time,  of  the  Flying  Kestrel,  and  the  two  families 
settled  down  to  spending  the  remainder  of  the  sum 
mer  on  the  island,  —  though  Jack  was  often  in  Booth- 
bay,  superintending  the  building  of  a  boat  shop,  to 
have  ready  in  the  autumn. 

Aunt  Hetty  apparently  had  a  new  lease  of  life ; 
there  was  a  manifest  struggle  going  on  within  her, 
which  Mary,  gifted  with  the  saving  grace  of  humor, 
watched  with  keen  interest.  Either  her  loneliness 
during  Mary's  absence,  her  husband's  decision  to 
settle  down  at  home,  or  their  bettered  circumstances  — 
perhaps  all  three  combined  —  was  responsible  for 
Aunt  Hetty's  growing  anxiety  to  be  conciliatory, 
which  so  visibly  warred  against  her  critical  self-right 
eous  tendency, —  her  stone  of  stumbling  and  rock  of 
offense.  In  the  midst  of  a  sharp  sentence  she  would 


182  MARY  CAMEltON:   A   ItOMANCE 

stop  suddenly  and  shut  her  mouth  with  a  snap.  "  I 
declare  for  it,"  she  broke  out  one  day,  attempting  to 
laugh  at  herself,  "  I  shall  bite  my  tongue  off,  the  first 
thing  I  know." 

"  I  s'pose  you  did  n't  get  a  beau  while  you  's  gone," 
Aunt  Hetty  ventured  one  dull  afternoon,  —  they  had 
ample  time  now  to  talk  over  Mary's  visit.  "Seems 
to  me  you  're  gettin'  to  be  somethin'  of  an  old  maid. 
But  then,  mebbe  there'll  be  chances  for  you  over  .to 
Boothbay  next  winter." 

Mary  bent  lower  over  her  sewing,  and  Aunt  Hetty 
went  on  with  the  monologue. 

"  After  all,  though,  if  a  woman 's  fairly  well  off, 
an'  comfortable,  I  say  she  'd  better  not  get  married. 
She  gives  herself  up  too  much.  She's  got  a  master 
then,  an'  she  's  got  to  do  what  he  wants  her  to  ;  mebbe 
he  don't  say  it  in  so  many  words,  but  there  's  looks 
that  she  sees,  if  nobody  else  don't.  An'  when  she 
wants  to  go  away,  it 's  '  No,  don't  go  ;  I  shall  be  lone 
some  !  '  I  tell  you,  when  a  woman  's  married,  she  's 
got  a  master,  an'  she  ain't  the  same  as  she  was  before. 
But  land  sakes  !  men  are  masterful,  anyway.  I  sup 
pose  the  Lord  made  'em  so.  Just  see  how  your 
brother  went  to  work  an'  bought  that  house,  an'  just 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  183 

see  how  set  your  uncle  was  not  to  stay  here  next 
winter."  Secretly,  Aunt  Hetty  liked  her  husband  all 
the  better  for  his  insistence. 

Back  from  the  busy  town  life  with  its  spirit  of  the 
present,  to  the  simple  life  of  nature,  touched  with  the 
mysterious  sense  of  the  to-be,  Mary  had  taken  up 
the  humble  routine  of  her  daily  cares  with  that  stead 
fast  adjustment  which  is  the  heritage  of  a  well- 
balanced  mind.  The  unusual  events  in  the  home  life 
immediately  after  her  return  helped  her  through  the 
transition,  and  gave  her  nature  a  chance  to  react  from 
the  strain  of  those  last  days  in  Newton. 

She  wandered  over  the  island  like  a  bird,  examin 
ing  her  flowers,  watching  the  fishhawks,  drinking  in 
the  glory  of  dawns  and  sunsets,  and  of  the  blue  sea. 
How  she  had  learned  to  love  the  barren  little  island  ! 
Yet  how  pitiably  limited  life  was  here  ! 

This  June  weather  brought  such  longing  days  — 
days  when  all  the  unrest  of  her  nature  awoke  and 
thrust  forth  a  claim  for  recognition,  days  when  she 
tried  to  persuade  herself  into  caring  for  Rob  Western. 
Marrying  him  would  mean  escape  from  the  monotony 
and  narrowness  of  this  passive  existence  which  pressed 
upon  her  more  heavily  now  that  she  had  tasted  the 


184  MARY    CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

charm  of  congenial  companionship  and  breathed  the 
larger  breath  of  life  ;  but  in  her  heart  she  felt  this 
would  be  doing  him  cruel  injustice. 

Rob  Weston  wrote  twice  during  the  week  after  her 
return,  passionate,  pleading  letters,  and  the  second 
one  she  answered.  The  next  letter  she  did  not  an 
swer  ;  its  wild  insistence  almost  terrified  her.  Then 
no  more  came  for  several  weeks. 

Strongly  as  were  her  thoughts  drawn  toward  John 
Loring,  as  strongly  she  fought  the  feeling.  "What 
right  have  I  to  believe  he  gives  me  a  thought  beyond 
that  of  simple  kindness  ? "  she  pitilessly  rebuked  her 
self  again  and  again.  Yet  back  of  all  her  resolution, 
in  her  inner  consciousness,  his  influence  was  upon  her 
life. 

A  half-divine,  half-maddening  discontent  kept  her 
out  of  doors  working  around  her  flowers,  walking,  or 
spending  long  hours  on  the  rocks,  reading,  —  a  pack 
age  of  books,  Stevenson,  Kipling,  Burroughs,  and 
several  magazines  had  arrived  for  her  not  long  after 
she  reached  home,  —  reading,  while  the  unresting 
ocean  came  lingeringly  against  the  rocks  at  her  feet, 
and  the  fearless  sandpipers  flitted  by,  their  soft  gray 
colors  blending  with  the  pebbles  and  the  rocks.  And 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  185 

living  thus,  she  felt  the  dream-realization  of  a  world 
of  activity  and  beauty  and  love,  made  up  of  vague, 
mingled  images  from  the  books  she  had  read  and  the 
experiences,  real  and  imaginary,  shadowed  forth  in 
her  mind. 

Outwardly  her  life  went  on  much  as  ever  in  the  old 
routine.  More  tender  with  her  father,  more  patient 
with  Aunt  Hetty,  she  fought  her  battles  out  alone. 
There  was  nothing  else  for  her  than  submission,  save 
stark  rebellion  —  and  how  could  one  rebel  on  a  lonely 
island  in  the  midst  of  the  sea  !  Life  was  just  dreary, 
that  was  all.  "Will  it  be  this  way  forever?"  she 
asked  herself  passionately. 

She  began  to  count  the  time  until  they  should  go  to 
live  on  the  mainland.  At  least  she  could  forget  her 
self  there  in  some  kind  of  activity  —  anything  would 
be  better  than  these  uneventful,  interminable,  madden 
ing  days. 


186  MARY  CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

"To  ease  another's  heartache  is  to  forget  one's  own." 

—  Abraham  Lincoln. 

DON'T  you  think  I  can  get  out  by  to-morrow?" 
Rob  Weston  turned  wearily  on  the  couch  and 
looked  toward  John  Loring,  who  was  writing  at  a  desk 
in  the  upstairs  library  —  a  man's  room  furnished  with 
simplicity  and  good  taste. 

"  Can't  tell  yet,  Rob,"  Loring  answered,  looking  at 
his  patient  critically.  "The  fever  seems  to  come 
back  every  night,  even  now."  Then  he  raised  the  win 
dow  shade,  straightened  the  rug  over  Rob's  feet,  and 
resumed  his  writing.  At  last  he  laid  aside  his  pen  ; 
it  was  too  dark  to  see  any  longer  and  too  warm  to 
have  the  gas  lighted. 

For  more  than  three  weeks  Rob  Weston  had  been 
under  John  Lor  ing's  roof,  ill  with  an  attack  of  mala 
rial  fever,  which  was  aggravated  by  an  exhausted 
system  and  mental  despondency.  Loring  had  found 
him  playing  billiards  one  day  at  the  University  Club, 
with  flushed  cheeks,  feverish  eyes,  and  hot  hands ; 
and  he  had  peremptorily  taken  him  home,  none  too 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  187 

soon,  for  during  the  first  ten  days  Rob  showed  such 
depression  that  the  doctor  forbade  his  being  left  alone. 

All  the  more  because  his  own  life  was  dreary,  his 
heart  bitterly  sore,  John  Loring,  stilling  his  own  rebel 
lion,  had  lavished  unremitting  care  upon  Rob.  It  was 
his  vicarious  offering  to  Mary  Cameron.  Only  that 
morning  Rob  had  written  to  her  ;  John  himself  had 
mailed  the  letter  at  Rob's  request. 

"  You  've  been  good  to  me,  John."  Rob's  voice 
broke  the  stillness  of  the  darkening  room.  "  It  was 
almost  a  case  of  '  a  stranger  and  you  took  me  in.'  " 
Another  pause.  "  Do  you  mind  if  I  talk  about  my 
own  affairs  a  while  ?  " 

"  Surely  not.  Goon."  The  ready  answer  did  not 
lack  any  tone  of  sympathy. 

"It's  about  Miss  Cameron,"  said  Rob;  the  hope 
less  note  in  his  voice  filled  John  Loring  with  surprise. 
Then  after  a  moment  he  related  the  whole  story 
straight  through. 

Rob,  having  previously  gained  everything  he  had 
tried  for,  had  taken  his  defeat  hard. 

"  Has  she  positively  told  you  she  could  never  care 
for  you  ?  "  John  Loring's  heart  seemed  to  stop  beat 
ing  as  he  waited  for  the  answer. 


188  MAE Y  CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

"  Yes,  told  me  so  and  written  me  so,"  said  Rob,  with 
a  groan.  "  It 's  no  use  hoping,  I  saw  that  in  her  face 
that  day  ;  she  was  only  trying  to  be  generous  when 
she  gave  me  that  half  chance.  There  's  no  use  in  my 
going  to  see  her,  so  I  've  got  to  be  man  enough  to 
give  her  up  and  take  myself  back  to  Europe  to  work 
as  soon  as  I  can.  I  wrote  her  so  this  morning." 

A  long  silence  fell  between  the  two  men ;  and  John 
Loring  was  as  thankful  as  a  woman  for  the  darkless. 
Presently,  in  a  voice  which  soothed  Rob  unconsciously, 
he  led  him  on  to  talk  of  his  work,  —  Rob's  genuine 
love  for  it  was  unmistakable,  —  till  he  found  his  pa 
tient  growing  absent-minded  and  excited  again. 

The  older  man  lighted  the  gas,  mixed  a  quieting 
drink  and  gave  it  to  Rob,  then  helped  him  off  the 
couch  into  the  adjoining  bedroom,  after  Mrs.  Loring, 
a  shadowy,  gray-haired  old  lady,  had  come  in  for  a 
moment  to  say  good-night. 

When  Rob  had  fallen  asleep,  John  Loring  left  the 
house  and  quickly  walked  the  half  mile  that  lay  be 
tween  his  own  home  and  the  Sargents'. 

"  Does  your  invitation  still  hold  good  for  that  yacht 
ing  trip  in  August?"  he  asked  Mrs.  Sargent,  who  was 
sitting  on  the  veranda.  "  I  find  I  can  go  with  you 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  189 

after  all,  unless  you  have  asked  somebody  else."     He 
stood  expectant  before  her. 

kt  Yes,  it  does  for  th2  sail  as  far  as  Bar  Harbor  ; 
but  unfortunately  we  have  asked  the  Merricks  to  come 
back  with  us  from  there.  We  shall  be  delighted  to  have 
you  go,  if  you  think  the  one  voyage  is  worth  while." 

"  "Worth  while  !  I  should  say  so,  to  a  man  who  has 
been  stifled  with  the  heat  all  summer."  He  gave  an 
excited  laugh. 

"  Remember  we  expect  to  start  about  the  fourth  of 
August.  Stop  a  moment  longer,  can't  you?  Mr. 
Sargent  will  be  at  home  from  the  club  soon." 

u  No,  thank  you.  I  must  go  back  and  see  if  my 
patient  is  asleep  for  the  night." 

"  You  look  pale  and  thin,  John,"  Mrs.  Sargent  said, 
with  real  concern,  as  the  light  from  the  library  window 
fell  upon  his  face  when  he  turned  to  go.  "  You  have 
been  kinder  to  Rob  Western  than  he  deserves,  I  be 
lieve." 

"No,  none  too  kind,  I  assure  you.  Good-night!  " 
he  said,  abruptly  leaving  her. 

"  What  has  happened  to  make  John  Loring  change 
his  mind,  I  wonder?"  queried  Mrs.  Sargent  of  her 
husband. 


190  MARY  CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

"  Above  all  things,  don't  ask  him,"  he  answered. 

"  Henry  Sargent,  do  you  need  to  say  a  thing  like 
that  to  me  after  you  have  lived  with  me  fifteen  years  ?  " 
she  demanded. 

Rob  was  asleep,  and  John  Loring  sat  until  late  into 
the  night  looking  upon  the  sensitive  face,  boyish 
almost,  as  he  lay  there  asleep ;  and  if  the  face  lacked 
somewhat  of  firmness,  it  was  compensated  for,  the 
older  man  thought,  by  the  nameless  charm  that  lay 
in  its  symmetry  and  beauty  of  feature.  "  I  should 
think  any  woman  could  love  him,"  he  said  to  himself. 
"  Will  it  happen  that  his  loss  is  my  gain?  " 

The  next  two  weeks  dragged  on  leaden  wings  to 
John  Loring.  The  springs  of  his  life  ran  in  deep 
places,  and  these  springs  had  been  deeply  stirred. 
Night  and  day  Mary  Cameron's  face  haunted  him,  and 
to  be  with  her  again  seemed  the  one  good  in  all  the 
world. 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  191 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

"  Love  took  up  the  harp  of  life." 

—  Alfred  Tennyson. 

WHEN  Mrs.  Sargent  wrote,  later,  to  tell  Mary 
that  they  would  probably  reach  Fisherman's 
Island  about  the  seventh  of  August  on  Mr.  Sargent's 
new  yacht,  the  Atlanta,  she  hesitated,  and  finally  did 
not  add  that  Mr.  Loring  would  be  with  them. 

The  swift-sailing  yacht  came  to  anchor  in  the  island 
cove  a  day  earlier  than  the  Camerons,  calculating  the 
average  run  from  Boston,  had  expected ;  but  south 
west  winds  had  sped  her  swiftly  along,  and  she  was 
a  record-breaking  yacht,  with  a  spoon  bow,  long  over 
hang,  carrying,  beside  her  mainsail,  two  jibs  and  a 
gaff  topsail.  She  was  about  seventy  feet  long  over 
all,  and  had  a  good  cabin  with  plenty  of  room  aft. 

All  these  details  Jack,  from  the  boathouse,  was 
taking  in  as  the  Atlanta  anchored.  Seeing  the  sailors 
preparing  to  lower  the  tender  for  the  party  to  land, 
he  ran  like  the  wind  out  to  the  south  shore,  where 
Mary  was  reading,  with  Skipper  lying  at  her  feet. 

"The  Sargents  have  come  in  a  stunning  clipper  of 


192  MARY  CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

a  yacht.  Hurry  !  She's  a  regular  up  to  date  flyer," 
he  exclaimed,  and  off  he  ran  again. 

When  Mary  came  around  the  corner  of  the  house, 
flushed  with  the  haste,  her  hair  tossed  by  the  wind, 
the  huge  black  dog  bounding  at  her  side,  she  found 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sargent  sitting  on  the  front  porch,  and, 
to  her  amazement,  Mr.  Loring  with  them. 

Mrs.  Sargent  began  explaining.  "  You  see,  we 
could  just  as  well  bring  Mr.  Loriug  with  us  as  not, 
and  he  needed  the  voyage."  She  had  adjusted  many 
things  to  her  own  satisfaction  when  she  learned,  im 
mediately  after  John  Loring's  change  of  plan,  that 
Rob  Weston  had  engaged  passage  for  Europe  and  was 
not  going  to  Maine  before  he  sailed.  She  liked  John 
Loring's  straightforward  action ;  there  was  no  half- 
heartedness  about  his  attitude.  "  That  will  go  a  long 
way  with  a  nature  like  Mary  Cameron's,  whatever  her 
feeling  is,"  she  told  her  husband,  whose  slower  mas 
culine  comprehension  had  at  last  grasped  the  situation. 

Mary's  hand  had  barely  touched  Mr.  Loring's  in 
greeting.  An  unconquerable  shyness  made  her  move 
away  from  him  and  try  to  escape  his  attention. 

Aunt  Hetty  and  Captain  Cameron  soon  appeared 
to  give  their  welcome  —  the  one  from  the  little  brown 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  193 

cottage,  having  stopped  to  put  on  her  best  dress, 
the  other  from  the  island  hilltop,  where  he  had  been 
picking  raspberries. 

Aunt  Hetty's  attempts  at  hospitality  fitted  her  about 
as  smoothly  as  her  best  black  cashmere  gown. 

"  We  was  n't  expectin'  you  so  soon,  so  of  course 
you  did  n't  find  us  ready,"  she  said  apologetically. 
"I  don't  see  how  we're  goin'  to  make  you  comfort 
able,  Mis'  Sargent." 

"  Oh,  please  don't  trouble  at  all  about  us.  We 
shall  be  here  only  a  short  time,  and  we  shall  live 
right  on  the  yacht,"  replied  Mrs.  Sargent,  turning  to 
Captain  Cameron,  whose  delight  over  the  guests  was 
unbounded.  With  the  dignity  that  never  deserted 
him,  he  said  :  — 

"I'm  sure  I'm  glad  to  see  you.  You  gave  my 
little  girl  such  a  good  time  this  spring  as  she  never 
had  before,"  and  he  put  his  hand  on  Mary's  shoulder. 
She  had  drawn  near  him,  and  as  she  now  stood  by 
him,  before  her  friends,  she  felt  John  Loring's  glance 
upon  her,  bringing  the  rich  color  anew  to  her  face. 

It  was  the  same  sweet  face  under  the  gleaming 
hair ;  but  the  eyes  had  lost  something  of  the  content 
he  had  first  noted  in  Newton  ;  there  was  a  suggestion, 


194  MARY  CAMEEON:   A   ROMANCE 

too,  of  dependence  on  her  father  as  she  stood  there 
by  his  side, — less  of  the  unconscious  self-reliance 
she  had  shown  before. 

"  We  will  have  an  early  supper  on  the  boat,  and 
then  come  up  and  sit  on  your  porch  through  the 
twilight,"  Mrs.  Sargent  was  saying  ;  she  feared  their 
unexpected  arrival  might  have  disconcerted  Mary. 
"Come,  too,  Mary, — I  shall  call  you  Mary,  now. 
We  are  going  to  cruise  up  the  Sheepscot  River  to 
morrow,  and  you  must  go  with  us  for  the  day.' 

"Oh,  thank  you,  I  should  like  to  go,  but — ";  the 
girl  was  plainly  embarrassed. 

"  No  '  buts  ' !  We  have  n't  sailed  all  the  way  from 
Boston  to  see  you,  only  to  have  you  disappoint  us. 
We  start  with  you  at  nine  o'clock  to-morrow  morning, 
sharp,  to  catch  the  tide,"  said  Mr.  Sargent. 

"Of  course  you're  going,  Mary,"  put  in  Aunt 
Hetty  ;  "  there  ain't  a  thing  to  keep  you  home." 

Overruled  as  to  the  yachting,  Mary  begged  off  from 
the  supper.  "  I  shall  need  the  time,"  she  insisted, 
"  if  I  am  going  to  be  away  to-morrow." 

"Why,  oh,  why,  has  he  come?  I  cannot  bear  it!" 
Mary  cried  to  herself,  in  the  brief  interval  she  had 
alone.  All  her  staunch  resolution  had  deserted  her  ; 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  195 

she  felt  weak  and  unnerved.  The  touch  of  his  hand, 
the  sight  of  his  face,  with  its  pallor,  which  the  yacht 
ing  voyage  had  failed  to  remove,  roused  her  into  the 
knowledge  that  she  must  fight  the  battle  through 
again.  She  dared  not,  must  not  give  way  now,  for 
the  Sargents  were  her  friends,  and  they  had  come  to 
see  her.  But  it  was  with  a  heavy  heart  that  she  met 
them  again  after  supper. 

"What  beautiful  flowers!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Sar 
gent,  as  she  caught  sight  of  the  little  garden  full 
of  summer  fragrance, — for  Mary's  care  had  been 
rewarded  with  an  abundance  of  blossoms,  brilliant 
and  fragrant. 

"Come  here,  Margaret,  quick!"  Mr.  Sargent 
called  to  his  wife  from  the  porch.  Down  by  the  boat- 
house,  in  the  midst  of  encircling  white  wings,  the  old 
captain  stood  feeding  innumerable  white  gulls.  Tame 
and  fearless  they  hovered  around,  almost  taking  the 
food  from  his  hands ;  and  he,  standing  among  them, 
seemed  like  a  shepherd  with  his  sheep, — only  for  a 
moment,  though,  as,  startled  by  Mrs.  Sargent's  mov 
ing  nearer,  the  gulls  vanished  in  a  whirring  clond. 

"  So  you  live  here  with  flowers  and  birds,"  said  Mr. 
Loring  to  Mary,  walking  up  to  her. 


196  MAEY  CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

"May  we  go  in  to  see  your  '  speak-a-bit '  corner 
that  you  told  me  about?"  asked  Mrs.  Sargent.  And 
moving  away  quickly  from  Mr.  Loring,  Mary  led  the 
way  into  the  house. 

The  best  room  was  full  of  spicy  wood  fragrance 
mingled  with  the  sea  atmosphere  —  that  salt,  savory 
odor,  distinctly  tangible. 

"Such  priceless  things  as  you  have  here!"  cried 
Mrs.  Sargent,  examining  the  tables,  the  china,  and 
the  ornaments,  with  the  delight  of  a  connoisseur. 
Aunt  Hetty,  in  the  background,  listened  with  swelling 
pride. 

"  What  is  this?  —  my  curiosity  conquers  me,"  asked 
Mrs.  Sargent,  stepping  in  front  of  an  inlaid  tip-table. 

"  Oh,  nothin'  much,"  answered  Captain  Cameron, 
opening  the  mahogany  case  and  showing  an  instrument 
on  its  worn  velvet  lining.  "That's  my  sextant,  the 
only  one  of  my  sea  instruments  left,  old  an'  rusty 
like  myself,  now." 

John  Loring's  eyes  lingered  over  every  detail  of 
the  room  ;  here,  as  Mary  told  them,  was  where  she 
spent  much  of  her  time.  He  saw  the  books  he 
had  sent  her  filling  the  bookcase  Jack  had  built  into 
her  corner.  He  picked  up  one  lying  on  the  table 


OF  FISHEEMAN'S  ISLAND.  197 

near  by.  It  was  a  copy  of  Tennyson,  and  where 
the  book  opened  in  his  hand  he  saw  underlined  the 
words :  — 

"  A  man  more  pure  and  bold  and  just 
Was  never  born  into  the  earth," 

and  at  the  side,  written  in  Mary's  hand,  "This  is  my 
father."  He  closed  the  book,  reverently. 

The  perfume  of  the  mignonette  stole  around  the 
house  as  they  sat  on  the  porch  in  the  twilight.  The 
night  was  perfectly  calm,  silent,  and  filled  with  a 
transparent  haze  ;  the  sea  was  moving  only  because 
the  tide  lifted  it. 

"  Stars  are  a  kind  of  bread  an'  butter  that  never 
fails  the  sailor,"  said  Captain  Cameron.  The  Sargents 
were  leaving  the  conversation  to  him,  and  he  had  been 
spinning  sea  yarns ;  he  had  just  ended  one  with 
"I  tell  you,  it's  a  sublime  sight  to  see  a  full-rigged 
clipper  ship,  specially  on  a  dark  night,  with  the 
wind  whistlin'  through  her  shrouds,  when  mebbe  the 
men  have  to  go  aloft  on  the  yards  to  take  in  the 
sails,  with  the  ship  driviu'  ahead  into  the  black 
ness,  an'  all  the  water  showin'  those  phosphorescent 
items." 

"  I  don't  understand   how  you  could    settle    down 


198  MARY  CAMERON:  A  ROMANCE 

here  after  your  stirring  life,  Captain  Cameron,"  said 
Mr.  Sargent. 

"  Well,  you  see,  sir,"  answered  the  old  man, 
after  a  moment's  thought.  "It  ain't  life  itself  in 
lonely  places  that 's  the  matter ;  it 's  the  way  peo 
ple  feel  toward  each  other  that  makes  'em  happy  or 
miserable  wherever  they  are.  Sometimes  I  get  beat, 
I  admit,  when  the  weather 's  bad  for  a  long  spell 
or  the  lobster  traps  are  specially  hard  to  haul ;  but 
then  I  always  go  back  to  David  an'  his  Psalms.  No 
one  ever  had  a  harder  time  than  he  did.  I  expect 
livin'  out  here  's  come  hardest  on  my  little  girl,"  he 
added. 

"I've  been  happy  enough  with  you,  father,"  came 
Mary's  low  voice  in  the  darkness.  She  was  sitting  in 
the  chair  next  to  him,  and  no  one  saw  her  slip  her 
hand  into  his  ;  that  worn,  hard  hand  seemed  to  hush 
the  tumult  in  her  heart. 

John  Loring  was  leaning  against  the  ridge  of  rock 
close  to  the  porch,  not  far  from  Mary  ;  she  could  feel 
how  near. 

**  Those  dear,  drowsy  crickets  are  positively  sending 
me  to  sleep,"  said  Mrs.  Sargent,  breaking  the  silence 
that  had  fallen  over  them  all.  "  Life  on  the  ocean 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  199 

wave,  anyway,  is  the  best  sleeping  potion  I  know. 
It  must  be  time  we  went  back  to  the  yacht." 

There  was  a  little  more  talk  about  to-morrow's 
plans,  then  Mary  and  her  father  walked  down  to  the 
wharf  to  see  the  guests  into  the  tender.  John  Loring 
had  counted,  for  the  last  half  hour,  that  she  would 
give  him  her  hand  when  she  said  good-night ;  but  she 
eluded  him.  The  evening  had  brought  meager  satis 
faction  to  him ;  instead,  he  felt  a  gnawing  anxiety 
lest  his  coming  was  in  vain,  she  had  shown  so  little 
gladness  to  see  him,  had  indeed  so  plainly  avoided 
him. 

The  seventh  of  August  dawned,  a  rare,  golden  day. 
A  rush  of  pure  joy  in  living,  of  fulness  of  feeling, 
swept  over  John  Loring,  —  something  of  the  old 
childlike  feeling  of  fearless  trust  that  comes  back  to 
us,  with  the  richness  of  mature  experience  between. 
"•  I  must  have  faith  in  what  other  days,  if  not  this 
day,  will  bring  forth,"  he  said,  reassuring  himself. 

The  morning  sunshine  lay  bright  on  the  sparkling 
water,  the  air  was  strongly  salt  and  stimulating,  when 
the  party  gathered  for  the  start.  Mary,  up  since  day 
break,  after  a  restless  night,  had  gained  a  little  fresh 
courage  with  the  day  ;  but  there  was  a  tension  about 


200  MARY  CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

her  that  suggested  the  undergoing  of  a  trying  ordeal, 
rather  than  the  beginning  of  a  day  of  pleasure.  She 
wore  her  dark  blue  dress,  with  its  coat,  a  white  shirt 
waist,  and  a  white  sailor  hat ;  Mrs.  Sargent's  glance 
swept  over  her  with  approval. 

"  It 's  a  splendid  day  for  a  sail,"  said  Captain  Cam 
eron,  waiting  on  the  wharf  to  see  the  Atlanta  start; 
"  the  wind '11  be  with  you  all  the  way  up  the  river,  an' 
yon  '11  have  the  tide  comin'  back." 

Moved  by  an  irresistible  impulse,  Aunt  Hetty  kissed 
Mary  good-by.  Watching  now  from  the  kitchen  win 
dow  to  see  the  last  of  the  Atlanta,  she  suddenly  put  her 
apron  over  her  eyes.  "  What  an  old  fool  I  am  !  "  she 
said  ;  "  but  I  s'pose  everybody  was  young  once." 

Back  in  the  north  lay  Boothbay,  its  wide  harbor 
filled  with  white-winged  yachts  and  dingy,  picturesque 
coasters.  In  the  southwest  Squirrel  Island  showed 
gay  with  bright-painted  cottages.  Over  in  the  east 
the  Ocean  Point  colony  basked  in  the  sunlight,  while 
here  and  there  busy  steamboats  plied  about,  laden 
with  summer  travelers,  and  many  schooners,  Iwuud 
for  the  Banks,  like  gulls  were  skimming  over  the 
water  on  long  tacks,  now  half-concealed  in  its  troughs, 
now  tossed  on  the  tops  of  the  billows. 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  201 

"  Better  go  out  round  Cape  Newagen  an'  into  the 
Sheepscot,"  said  Captain  Cameron,  when  the  At- 
lanta's  sailing  ra aster  had  asked  his  advice;  "you'll 
never  have  a  better  chance,  tho'  it's  a  'reef  tops'l' 
breeze." 

The  wind,  against  the  tide  when  they  started,  blew 
up  a  heavy  sea,  and  when  they  reached  the  Cuckolds' 
rocks,  they  were  running  under  reefed  mainsail ;  even 
then,  to  keep  the  boat  up  they  had  to  ease  the  sheet 
until  the  luff  bagged  five  or  six  feet. 

"  Going  around  Cape  Newagen  means  a  rough  pas 
sage,  with  a  wind  like  this,"  said  Mary.  "Do  you 
mind  it?"  she  asked,  for  Mrs.  Sargent  was  growing 
pale. 

"Mind  it!  I 'm  a  wretched  sailor  except  before 
the  wind,"  replied  Mrs.  Sargent.  "  I  must  go  below 
and  lie  down,"  she  added,  disappearing. 

Mary's  eyes  had  kindled  with  the  stir  of  the 
Atlanta's  rush  through  the  water  ;  the  wind  and  the 
motion  disturbed  her  not  a  whit,  but  a  feeling  of  dis 
may  seized  her.  She  had  hardly  spoken  to  Mr. 
Loring  thus  far  that  morning  ;  now,  the  sense  of  Mrs. 
Sargent's  presence  lost,  she  avoided  as  much  as  a  look 
in  his  direction. 


202  MARY  CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

They  were  dashing  through  the  waves,  leaving  be 
hind  them  a  long  trail  of  sparkling  foam.  Out  at  sea 
was  a  wide  sweep  of  blue,  reaching  far  to  the  open 
ocean,  which  lay  rolling,  tossing,  and  breaking  into 
white  caps  under  the  bright  sunshine. 

"  You  must  have  a  warmer  wrap,  Miss  Cameron." 
Mr.  Loring  brought  his  steamer-rug  to  her  as  he 
spoke.  Her  face  was  aglow  with  excitement. 

"  No,  I  don't  need  it,"  she  protested. 

But  he  proceeded  to  fold  the  rug  over  her  shoulders. 
A  stray  tress  of  her  gold-brown  hair  blew  across  his 
coat  sleeve.  She  had  never  looked  more  winning. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said  coldly,  "  I  really  don't  need 
the  wrap."  But  she  could  not  help  a  thrill  of  pleas 
ure  at  being  taken  care  of  in  this  strong,  manly 
fashion. 

"Is  she  shy  or  just  indifferent?"  he  asked  himself 
as  he  walked  away  and  seated  himself  on  the  deck  of 
the  cabin,  sore  puzzled  to  account  for  her  coolness. 

His  position  gave  Mary  a  chance  to  observe  him 
more  closely  than  she  had  before  done.  He  looked 
younger  in  his  knickerbockers  and  short  rough  blue 
coat  than  she  had  thought  him  in  Newton  ;  but  his  face 
had  not  worn  that  look  of  care,  nor  the  sense  of 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  203 

defeat  which  it  now  showed  in  repose,  as  he  sat  there 
looking  eastward  toward  Fisherman's  Island,  vanish 
ing  in  the  distance.  Her  heart  smote  her  vaguely  as 
she  saw  the  sadness  in  his  expression  ;  the  sympa 
thetic  element  is  never  far  absent  from  the  heart  of  a 
woman. 

"What's  that  steamboat  off  there  to  the  south 
ward?"  asked  Mr.  Sargent  of  the  man  at  the  wheel. 
"  One  of  the  White  Squadron,  yes,"  he  said,  answer 
ing  his  own  question  as  he  looked  through  the  marine 
glasses.  "They're  ahead  of  time,  too,  and  that 
means  we  will  have  to  go  on  to  Bar  Harbor  to 
morrow,  Miss  Cameron,  I'm  sorry  to  say." 

Mary  turned  abruptly,  as  if  to  brush  the  hair  away 
from  her  face,  when  Mr.  Sargent  began  consulting  the 
sailing-master  about  tides  and  courses.  "  Only  one 
day  out  of  a  whole  summer  of  days  ! "  she  said  to 
herself,  passionately.  The  day  which  had  looked 
interminable  at  the  outset,  now  all  at  once  seemed  to 
be  but  a  fleeting  moment. 

John  Loring  gave  the  White  Squadron  scant  wel 
come  in  his  thoughts.  He  had  counted  ou  two  or 
three  days'  cruising,  at  the  least,  in  the  vicinity  of 
Fisherman's  Island.  "Only  to-day,  and  she  is  so 


204  MARY  CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

strange,  so  remote  !  Dare  I  risk  it  ?  Can  I  wait  ? " 
he  asked  himself. 

They  had  rounded  Cape  Newagen,  with  its  pictur 
esque  fishing  settlement.  Heading  up  the  river,  they 
met  the  flood  tide,  and  the  master  soon  had  the 
Atlanta  under  full  sail  as  she  ran  before  the  wind, 
passing  the  Southport  shores  and  Heudrick's  Head 
light.  The  motion  grew  easier  and  up  opposite 
Ebenecook  Harbor,  Mrs.  Sargent  appeared  in  the 
companion-way,  pale  yet,  but  triumphant. 

"  We  are  in  smoother  water,  I  know,"  she  said. 
"  What!  'way  around  the  Cape  and  I  have  n't  seen  it! 
Never  mind,  what  is  scenery  without  the  capacity  to 
enjoy  it ! " 

"  We  've  got  the  wind  abaft  the  beam  now,  ma'am," 
said  the  sailing  master ;  "no  more  heavy  seas  to-day." 

"Did  I  hear  you  speaking  of  the  Squadron?" 
asked  Mrs.  Sargent,  seating  herself  by  the  side  of 
Mary,  and  taking  the  girl's  firm,  browned  hand  into 
hers.  "  I  wish  you  could  go  to  Bar  Harbor  with  us." 

"  Yes,  we  sighted  one  of  the  steamships,"  answered 
Mr.  Sargent,  "  and  we  '11  have  to  make  for  Mt.  Desert 
to-morrow ;  we  almost  ought  to  start  to-night  on 
account  of  possible  fogs." 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  205 

Mrs.  Sargent  felt  the  hand  within  her  own  tighten 
convulsively. 

"To-night?  not  to-night,  surely,"  said  Mr.  Loring, 
with  a  quick  glance  at  Mrs.  Sargent. 

"We  will  see  about  it  later,"  Mrs.  Sargent  replied. 
"  A  dozen  parties  and  receptions  are  n't  to  be  put  in 
the  balance  with  a  day  like  this  on  the  Sheepscot 
River.  Mary,"  —  the  girl,  who  had  been  looking 
straight  in  front  of  her,  out  to  sea,  turned  toward 
her  —  "  your  aunt  came  down  to  the  wharf  this  morn 
ing,  and  we  had  a  good  visit  together.  She  says  she 
shall  be  glad  enough  to  go  back  to  Boothbay." 

"Yes,  Aunt  Hetty  enjoys  people,"  said  Mary, 
absently. 

"  She  told  me  some  interesting  things  about  you 
and  Jack.  Evidently  the  sun  rises  and  sets,  in  her 
eyes,  for  you  both.  She  said  you  both  had  been 
brought  up  to  feel  no  fear,  or  at  least,  if  you  feel  it, 
not  to  show  it.  I  liked  that." 

Was  there  any  -meaning  back  of  Mrs.  Sargent's 
words?  Mary  wondered.  At  all  events  they  roused 
her.  "  What  is  there  to  be  afraid  of,  ever?  "  she  said, 
a  sudden  gleam  of  her  old  happy  smile  lighting  her 
face. 


206  MARY   CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

"Your  aunt  told  me,  too,  about  the  accident  Jack 
had  last  winter,  and  how  you  had  the  Kady  raised  for 
him,"  Mrs.  Sargent  went  on.  "  Why  didn't  you  tell 
me  about  it?  " 

"  I  did  n't  think  it  was  worth  telling  you,"  she 
said  ;  but  then  and  there  Mrs.  Sargent  went  over  the 
whole  story,  which  had  lost  nothing  from  Aunt  Hetty's 
relating. 

"  Mrs.  Sargent,  you  are  making  too  much  of  it,"  at 
last  Mary  interrupted  in  self-defense. 

"No,  I'm  not;  but  I  will  spare  you  further  con 
fusion.  Still,  perhaps  women  always  exaggerate  in 
their  stories  ;  men  say  we  do." 

"I  wish  you  had  heard  your  aunt  talking  about 
Jack,  and  seen  her  as  she  straightened  herself  and 
snapped  her  eyes  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Sargent  after  a 
moment.  "'It  isn't  that  I'm  proud  of  him,'  she 
said,  '  because  I  believe  when  you  're  proud  of  things 
you  have  them  taken  away  ;  but  I  'm  pleased.  Jack 
has  n't  so  much  school  learning  as  some,  but  he  can 
row  a  boat  and  shoot  a  gun  and  stand  up  straight  and 
tell  the  truth.'" 

"  Pretty  good  recommendation  for  a  young  man," 
said  Mr.  Sargent,  heartily.  "He  looks  it,  too." 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  207 

After  that  they  fell  to  talking  of  the  scenes  along 
the  way,  as  the  river,  narrowing,  brought  them  nearer 
to  the  shores.  Fresh  odors  from  the  fields  mingled 
with  the  saltness  of  the  air,  and  the  cloudless  sky 
revealed  that  tenderness  which  no  painter  or  poet  can 
ever  re- image. 

On  the  Atlanta  bore  them,  past  McCarthy's  Cove, 
past  the  mouth  of  the  Cross  River,  past  Fowle's  Point 
and  "the  Indian."  that  myth  figure  on  the  rocks  of 
the  Westport  shore,  up  to  Edgecomb  Eddy  and  the 
Sheepscot  Narrows,  where  the  fortified  government 
blockhouse,  dating  back  to  1812,  stands  guard  on 
Davis  Island  —  enchanted  island,  with  its  dreamy, 
delicious  woods ;  and  high  noon  found  them  just  be 
yond  the  Narrows,  where  the  river  widens  out  into  the 
noble  harbor  at  Wiscasset. 

"Dear  old  Wiscasset  and  its  long  bridge!"  ex 
claimed  Mrs.  Sargent;  "what  good  times  we  have 
had  here,  Henry,"  she  added. 

"  Yes,  that  long  bridge  could  tell  many  a  tale,"  he 
answered.  "The  old  town  has  romance  and  history 
enough  to  make  a  dozen  books." 

"Wasn't  it  here  that  Miss  Howard  wrote  'One 
Summer  '  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Loring. 


208  MARY   CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

"  Yes,"  answered  Mrs.  Sargent;  "only  Edgecorab 
was  Wiscasset,  and  Wiscasset  Edgecomb  in  her  story." 

"  We  will  come  here  next  year  for  more  than  a 
look,"  said  Mr.  Sargent;  "but  now  we  must  turn 
about  if  we  want  to  get  down  the  river  before  night 
fall." 

Seizing  an  opportunity,  John  Loring  drew  Mrs.  Sar 
gent  aside  after  dinner,  which  they  had  the  steward 
serve  on  deck.  "For  heaven's  sake,  don't  start  for 
Bar  Harbor  to-night,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice  ;  "though 
I  don't  know  that  it  matters  !  " 

"  Trust  me,"  she  answered.  Then  she  added, 
"  Trust  yourself  John,  too." 

The  strong,  beautiful  day  wore  on.  The  afternoon 
sun  bathed  everything  with  warmth,  yet  the  delicious 
sea  breeze  tempered  the  heat.  All  the  air  was  slum 
brous  with  the  minute  music  of  insect  life.  There 
was  less  wind  than  in  the  morning,  but  the  sailing- 
master  took  advantage  of  all  there  was,  and  the  At 
lanta  made  good  headway. 

"  Probably  Miss-Cameron  does  n't  want  to  have  this 
fragrant  air  spoiled  by  your  cigar  smoke,"  said  Mrs. 
Sargent  after  a  while,  with  a  significant  glance  at  her 
husband  ;  "  come  out  to  the  bow  with  me  for  your 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  209 

smoke  —  I  am  going  out  there  to  read."  And  she 
walked  away,  expecting  him  to  follow. 

But  Mr.  Sargent  was  too  comfortable  to  leave  the 
cushioned  stern,  and  as  Mary  quickly  said,  "  Oh,  no, 
I  like  the  cigar  smoke,  do  stay  here,"  he  remained, 
for  lie  was  already  dozing. 

"  I  found  Sidney  Lanier's  poems  in  the  cabin,"  said 
Mr.  Loring,  coming  up  to  Mary  ;  he  had  been  wander 
ing  restlessly  over  the  yacht,  and  this  was  the  first 
time  he  had  deliberately  approached  her  since  the  rug 
episode  in  the  morning.  "  Would  you  care  to  have 
me  read  aloud  ?  We  seem  to  be  left  very  much  to  our 
own  devices." 

"  I  wish  you  would  read,"  she  answered,  turning 
her  eyes  upon  him  momentarily  ;  she  had  been  giving 
herself  up  by  degrees  to  the  dangerous  delight  of  the 
day. 

He  threw  aside  his  yachting  cap  ;  the  awning  was 
sufficient  protection  from  the  sun.  Yes,  he  was  thin 
ner,  his  temples  showed  it ;  and  Mary's  heart  smote 
her  again.  "  How  hard  he  works  !  "  she  thought. 

All  men  of  the  finer  fiber  feel  the  relation  between 
themselves  and  nature,  the  contact  with  something 
more  than  is  seen,  the  divine  immanence.  John 


210  MART  CAMERON:   A  ROMANCE 

Loring  felt  this  relation,  this  suggest! veness,  vividly. 
Opening  the  book,  he  began  reading  in  deep,  rich 
tones,  which  gave  back  the  echo  of  his  soul,  the  mar 
velous  "  Sunrise  "  poem. 

Once  he  let  his  eyes  wander  off  over  the  fields  and 
hills.  "  Think  what  the  freedom  of  this  country  here 
would  mean  to  people  in  hot,  crowded  city  streets 
to-day,  especially  the  children,  with  never  a  breath 
of  fresh  air !  "  he  said ;  then  he  turned  to  the  book 
again. 

As  he  read,  glancing  at  her  from  time  to  time,  he 
saw  that  the  music  of  the  poem  brought  into  her  eyes 
the  same  rested,  roused  expression  he  had  seen  that 
day  at  the  symphony  concert. 

"  Do  you  want  to  hear  a  song  sparrow  that  belongs 
right  where  you  are  reading?  Listen!"  she  said,  as 
a  child  might. 

Together  they  listened.  No  other  sound  than  the 
pure  cadence  of  the  bird  disturbed  the  echoless  air  ; 
the  place  and  the  day  had  found  a  voice. 

From  the  "Sunrise"  poem  John  Loring  turned  to 
"  The  Marshes  of  Glynn."  Mary  followed  the  read 
ing  closely,  the  beautiful  word  images  stamping  them 
selves  on  her  mind. 


OF  FISHEBMAN'S  ISLAND.  211 

"  —  good  out  of  infinite  pain, 
And  sight  out  of  blindness,  —  " 

he  repeated,  stopping  the  reading  there. 

The  air  and  the  regular  sound  of  John  Loring  s 
voice  had  sent  Mr.  Sargent  off  to  sleep.  But  there 
was  the  sailing-master  at  the  wheel. 

Mr.  Loring  moved  and  seated  himself  opposite  the 
man,  who  was  well  behind  Mary.  She  looked  up, 
expecting  him  to  go  on  reading.  As  she  met  his  eyes, 
her  own  eyes  were  held  by  a  look  that  seemed  to  pene 
trate  to  the  depths  of  her  soul. 

Just  then  Mr.  Sargent  stirred  and  roused  himself, 
saying,  "  I  must  have  been  taking  forty  winks." 

John  Loring  muttered  something  beneath  his  breath 
and  went  forward,  where  he  remained  talking  with 
Mrs.  Sargent.  When  they  came  aft  again,  Mrs. 
Sargent  said  :  — 

"  I  am  sure  we  would  better  stay  at  anchor  to-night 
and  get  an  early  start  to-morrow,  Henry.  I  'm  not 
a  good  sailor,  you  know,  and  you  don't  want  to  take 
a  dragged-out  woman  to  the  Bar  Harbor  festivities." 

"  This  is  better  than  parties,"  assented  Mr.  Sargent 
lazily.  "  How  about  the  wind  to-morrow?"  he  asked 
the  sailing-master. 


212  MARY  CAMERON:  A  ROMANCE 

"Oh,  it  may  haul  round  a  few  p'ints  to  the  west- 
*ard,"  answered  the  man,  his  round  blue  eyes  on  Mrs. 
Sargent — he  saw  that  she  was  averse  to  starting. 
"This  is  the  kind  o'  wind  that  dies  out  at  night,  sir, 
so  we  would  n't  make  much  headway  if  we  was  to 
start,  an'  there  ain't  a  mite  of  fog  anywheres." 

"  That  settles  it,"  said  Mrs.  Sargent  promptly. 
"How  stupid,  anyway,  to  go  back  to  good  clothes 
and  ceremony  after  this  informal  existence  !  " 

"  You  knew  all  about  Bar  Harbor  beforehand,"  re 
monstrated  Mr.  Sargent.  "  For  my  part,  I  like  isola 
tion." 

"  So  do  I — with  somebody  in  it,"  she  replied. 

Then  they  fell  to  talking  about  books,  and  from 
books  to  travel.  "  Books  are  good,  but  they  don't 
take  the  place  of  people  and  travel  for  inspiration  in 
living,"  was  Mrs.  Sargent's  dismissal  of  the  subject. 

"  How  much  longer  are  the  Kenda//s  10  be  abroad?  " 
asked  Mr.  Sargent. 

"Until  December.  I  suppose  they  will  see  Rob 
Weston  again  in  Paris,"  answered  Mrs.  Sargent. 

Mary's  face  did  not  change  a  whit  under  John  Lor- 
ing's  watchful  glance.  She  kept  away  from  him  yet, 
but  she  had  lost  the  sense  of  dread  and  fear ;  it  was 


OF  FIHHEKMAN'S  ISLAND.  213 

impossible  to  hold  them,  after  that  look,  that  revela 
tion  of  one  soul  to  the  other.  Come  what  might,  she 
had  this  precious  day  for  her  own,  always. 

The  Sargents  reminiscenced  long  over  Italy,  where 
they  had  spent  a  year  of  their  early  married  life  ;  and 
Mary,  who  knew  many  a  story  of  foreign  countries 
from  her  father,  told  them  in  that  low  voice  which  was 
music  to  John  Loring's  ears. 

Five  o'clock  found  the  Atlanta  plowing  her  way 
through  the  back  passage  out  into  the  waters  of 
Mouse  Island  and  Boothbay.  Steamboats  and  pleas 
ure  parties  in  the  many  catboats  that  cruise  here 
abouts  saluted  the  handsome,  swift-sailing  yacht  as 
she  passed,  and  the  Atlanta  dipped  her  pennant  in 
reply . 

"  Let's  have  supper  out  of  the  way  before  we  come 
to  anchor,  then  we  can  go  up  to  see  the  sunset  from  the 
top  of  Fisherman's,"  said  Mrs.  Sargent,  as  the  slant 
shadows  told  of  the  closing  day.  "  Miss  Cameron 
was  regretting  last  evening  that  we  had  n't  gone,  for 
she  says  the  outlook  is  glorious." 

Supper  was  a  farce  to  John  Loring,  and  to  Mary 
likewise.  One  thought  was  in  the  mind  of  each  —  the 
day,  the  perfect  day,  was  almost  over.  John  Loring's 


214  MARY  CAMEROX:   A   ROMANCE 

eyes  were  dark  with  intensity  of  feeling.  He  did  not 
succeed  in  meeting  her  eyes. 

They  reached  Fisherman's  Island  before  six  o'clock  ; 
and  this  time  the  Atlanta  came  up  to  the  wharf,  for 
the  sailing-master  had  learned  the  bearings  of  the 
cove. 

"  I  must  go  home  and  look  after  father  first,"  said 
Mary,  once  landed.  It  was  Mr.  Sargent  who  helped 
her  out,  spite  of  John  Loring's  intent. 

"May  I  walk  over  to  the  house  with  you?"  asked 
Mr.  Loring. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said.  "  Skipper  is  here  to  meet 
me."  "  Why  is  she  so  blind?"  thought  Mrs.  Sargent. 

"Come  back  so  we  can  start  in  half  an  hour,"  she 
called  out,  as  Mary  walked  away,  one  hand  on  the 
dog's  head. 

Captain  Cameron  was  off  somewhere  in  his  dory ; 
Mary  had  seen  this  at  a  glance  when  they  sailed  into 
the  cove. 

Once  inside  the  house  she  threw  herself  on  the  bed 
in  her  own  room.  The  swift  reaction  frotp  the  day's 
tension  overcame  her.  Away  from  them  all,  away 
from  him,  she  felt  the  slight  thread  of  happiness  spun 
in  the  golden  afternoon  slip  from  her  grasp.  Was 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  215 

this  love,  this  mysterious  relation  to  another  soul? 
Could  she  see  him  again?  But  she  must,  and  the 
moments  were  going ! 

She  rose  and  went  to  the  open  window,  letting  the 
cool  air  blow  on  her  face.  It  would  be  only  a  few 
hours  longer,  then  this  would  go  out  of  her  life  again. 

How  bitterly  cruel  it  all  was  !  Why  did  God  let  it 
come  to  her?  Was  God  a  father,  if  when  his  children 
asked  bread,  they  received  only  a  stone?  "My  own 
father  would  be  kinder!"  she  exclaimed.  Had  he 
ever  refused  or  withheld  anything  he  thought  she  ought 
to  have?  Could  God  be  less  kind?  Blindly  her  faith 
groped  back,  led  by  the  thought  of  the  gentle  old  man 
whose  own  faith  was  almost  lost  in  sight.  She  tried 
to  pray,  but  the  words  would  not  come. 

Was  it  in  answer  to  her  wish  to  pray  that  a  sudden 
recollection  came  to  her?  When  they  had  entered  the 
house  last  evening,  her  father,  divining  her  agitation, 
had  lifted  her  face  toward  him. 

"  Something  is  troubling  my  daughter,"  he  said,  and 
she  had  answered,  "  Father,  can  you  always  trust 
the  will  of  God?" 

"  Always."  How  clear  his  voice  had  sounded.  "  My 
only  fear  is  that  I  shall  let  my  own  will  conflict  with  it." 


216  MARY  CAMERON:   A   ItOMANCE 

Skipper  had  followed  her  into  the  room.  She  felt 
his  rough  tongue  gently  licking  her  hand. 

"  Dear  Skipper,"  she  cried,  throwing  her  arms 
around  the  dog's  neck  ;  "we  must  go  now." 

She  brushed  back  her  rumpled  hair,  removed  the 
traces  of  the  hot  tears  that  had  started,  steadied  her 
self  with  her  hand  on  the  door  before  she  left  the 
house,  then  walked,  bareheaded,  toward  the  wharf. 

John  Loring  watched  her  approach,  fear  and  hope 
contending  in  his  heart.  Against  those  somber  gray 
rocks,  coining  along  that  footpath,  was  where  he  had 
first  seen  her,  at  that  first  annual  meeting  of  the 
owners  —  tall  and  lithe  then  as  now,  but  now  with  the 
softening  grace  of  womanhood  about  her.  There  was 
something  untamed  and  fearless  in  her  bearing  ;  com 
munion  with  nature  had  set  an  indelible  trace  upon 
her.  She  was  unlike  other  women,  for  it  is  only  in 
solitude  that  strong  natures  grow  up  in  their  own  way  ; 
and  Mary  had  grown  into  womanhood  in  one  of  the 
solitary  places  of  the  earth. 

Aware  that  the  traces  of  her  emotion  showed  in  her 
face,  Mary  carried  herself  yet  the  more  bravely,  one 
hand  buried  in  the  dog's  black  fur.  As  she  stopped 
in  front  of  them,  Mrs.  Sargent  held  out  her  hand. 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  217 

"My  courage  fails  me,"  she  said;  she  was  leaning 
against  a  post  on  the  wharf,  vigorously  applying  her 
smelling-salts.  "  I  have  a  wretched,  dizzy  headache, 
so  you  will  have  to  excuse  me  from  seeing  the  sunset 
with  you.  But  the  rest  of  you  go,  just  the  same." 

"I  can't  stand  that  stiff  climb!"  exclaimed  Mr. 
Sargent,  glancing  up  at  the  steep  hillside  in  apparent 
dismay.  "  Sitting  around  boats  all  day  is  hard  work 
for  a  man  used  to  his  comfortable  office  chair." 

"  We  may  as  well  give  up  going,"  said  Mary,  in  an 
indifferent  voice;  "it  will  be  almost  as  beautiful 
here."  She  was  standing  like  a  statue ;  her  hard- 
won  self-control  steadied  her. 

"But  we  don't  get  any  view  here;  I  want  to  see 
the  sunset  from  the  hilltop,"  urged  Mr.  Loring,  with 
uncompromising  insistence. 

"  You  young  people  can  climb  hills  better  than  Mr. 
Sargent  and  I  can,"  said  Mrs.  Sargent,  "  we  will  wait 
here  for  you.  Go,  Mary,"  she  added;  "it  will  be  a 
positive  charity  to  put  a  view  such  as  you  say  it  is 
into  the  mind  of  a  tired  man  who  declares  that  he 
must  go  back  to  his  work  next  week." 

Mary  turned  to  Jack  ;  he  was  looking  the  Atlanta 
over  with  a  critical  eye.  "  Come  with  us,  Jack." 


218  MARY  CAMERON:   A   ROMANCE 

But  Jack  was  deaf  to  the  mingled  entreaty  and 
command  in  her  voice.  Boats  were  even  dearer  than 
Mary.  "  I  can  see  the  sunset  any  time.  The  sailing- 
master  's  going  to  draw  a  model  of  the  yacht  for  me  ; 
he  says  the  Kady's  got  some  first-rate  lines,"  answered 
the  all-absorbed  Jack. 

There  was  no  escape.  "Why  should  I  be  afraid," 
thought  Mary  proudly.  "It  will  only  take  a  few 
minutes,"  she  said,  with  a  glance  at  the  sun  which 
was  sinking  fast. 

Turning,  she  walked  ahead  up  the  path.  Skipper 
started  to  follow,  stopped  after  a  few  rods,  then 
walked  back  toward  the  house.  Mary  did  not  miss 
him,  but  she  heard  John  Loring's  sure  step  close  be 
hind  her. 

She  refused  his  proffered  help  from  one  rocky  point 
to  another. 

Seeing  her  mood,  he  did  not  offer  to  assist  her 
again,  though  the  way  was  steep  and  rough. 

He  had  brought  his  steamer  rug,  and  this  he  spread 
on  the  summit  rock  for  her,  seating  himself  a  few  feet 
away. 

Slowly  the  sun  sank  into  the  cloudless  west,  and  the 
purple  light  fell  on  sea  and  land. 


OF  FISHERMAN'S  ISLAND.  219 

Burnt  Island  and  Ram  Island  lights  had  flashed  out 
when  the  sun  went  down,  Seguin,  too,  Pemaquid,  and 
Monhegan,  miles  away  at  sea ;  she  told  them  to  him, 
one  by  one,  with  never  a  look  at  him. 

The  stars  throbbed  forth  in  the  heavens,  and  the 
glory  began  dimming  in  the  west ;  the  night  opened  its 
heart,  and  the  splendor  of  the  eternities  drew  all  about 
them. 

A  dreaming  bird  called  to  its  mate.  No  other  sound 
disturbed  the  echoless  air,  and  the  silence  fell  like 
music  on  their  souls. 

"  I  must  go  now,"  Mary  said,  rising  and  breaking 
the  silence. 

' '  You  liked  what  I  read  to  you  this  afternoon  ?  "  he 
asked,  rising  too.  His  eyes  were  turned  seaward. 

"  Yes  "  ;  her  voice  shook  a  little. 

"There  is  another  poem  I  wanted  to  read  to  you, 
not  from  Lanier,  but  something  I  have  always  liked. 
This  is  part  of  it,"  and  he  began  :  — 

"  We  two  stood  there  with  never  a  third, 
But  each  by  each,  as  each  knew  well ; 
The  sights  we  saw  and  the  sounds  we  heard, 
The  lights  and  the  shades  made  up  a  spell 
Till  the  trouble  grew  and  stirred." 


220 


MARY  CAMERON:   A  ROMANCE. 


He  waited  a  moment.     "  Shall  I  go  on?"  he  asked, 
turning  his  eyes  to  her.     She  met  his  look. 

"  Oh,  the  little  more,  and  how  much  it  is !  " 

but  the  rest  of  the  verse  remained  unquoted,  for  that 
look  drew  them  together. 

There  is  a  moment  when  souls  know  all,  without  that 
one  should  utter  a  word. 


A     000  088  696     o 


